Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds
by PoisonComeUndone
Summary: Full title and summary inside. This is a post 5.16 AU, Wincest. The boys are soulmates, and therefore were always meant to be together. Because they didn't make that choice, it changed everything, but Sam makes a deal to go back and make it right.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Merry Go Rounds and Burial Grounds Are All The Same To Me

Word Count: will probably finish out around 150k or so. At present it's a 76k WIP, but don't let that discourage you from starting it because I've written that much in a month(this was supposed to a Big Bang that I realized I wouldn't be able to finish in time. *sigh*), and I'll be writing on this steadily every day so I'll stay plenty ahead of where I'm at chapter posting wise and I plan to post every other day. ^^

Word Count for this chapter: 5, 936

Genre: Little bit of everything. There's romance and boys desperately in love and there's crazy amounts of angst in places and drama and action and family and…just all over the place. But the boys in love thing, that's the heart. 3

Spoilers: Need to have seen through 5.16

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: After getting back from heaven, Sam feels like he's hit a dead end. They seem to have finally drifted far enough apart that Dean's unreachable, and he's staring down the fact that it's hard to keep the faith when you're the only doing it, and that at this point they're probably screwed no matter what he tries to fix. But if Ash is right then him and his brother are soulmates, and that gives him a little bit of something to hold onto, tells him that what he's felt for his brother all along might not be so wrong. In a last ditch effort to do the right thing he sells his soul to hell to get Crowley to send him back to 6 years before the apocalypse on the night he left for Stanford, giving him the chance to not only fix his relationship with his brother, but to just maybe fix everything else too. Of course, all that hinges on just how inevitable fate really is, and if he fails, he'll end up right where Lucifer wants him.

Right. This is what happens, apparently, when I write one Wincest and then decide I'm capable of writing our boys together, and then 5.16 happens and they're so broken that they stomp on my heart and I want to fix them. This epic just hit me, and I knew there was no way I could keep from writing it. Once I'd thought of this I wasn't gonna be in the right frame of mind to do justice to the J2 I had planned for Big Bangso…I knew I was just gonna have to go for this. I didn't make it, but I'm not sorry. I hardcore love this story, and I'm proud of it.

First, writing this has been more fun from the very beginning than writing _anything_ has ever been, and considering how much I love to write that's saying a lot.

About 90% of this is gonna be Sam POV, just FYI. Not that I don't adore Dean, but this is Sam's story. Or, rather, their story seen through Sam's eyes, I guess.

Title comes from the freaking amazing song Cosmic Cowboy (Part I) by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. The rest of the lyrics don't exactly fit, but I thought _that_ part fit Sam and the general insanity of their lives very well.

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He wasn't wearing the amulet.

Looking at his own reflection in the mirror, that hurt him. He hadn't been able to put it on though, not even under his shirt, even though part of him had ached to feel it warm to his skin. It was _Dean's_, not his, and he could only wear it _for_ Dean. Not for himself, no matter how much he wanted to, how much he felt like he _needed_ to.

Instead he'd put it in his pocket and he could feel it now, one point digging into his upper thigh from the way he stood pressed against the bathroom counter. Particleboard with a cracked white veneer, it reminded him of Florida. They'd had this room there once when they were kids, and he'd gotten his first serious back wound. He'd stood at the bathroom mirror, bleeding on the white counter and trying to twist his head back over his shoulder to watch the reflection as Dean patched him up. Dean had finally held his head still and made him look forward, told him he was doin' great if he'd stop being such a pain in the ass.

That scar was still on his back somewhere, but he wasn't sure he could find it anymore. Some of them ran together, at this point. He leaned just a little more on the counter, fingers curling around the edge of the wood, cracks digging sharp and painful into the undersides of his fingers.

He missed his brother so hard he couldn't fucking breathe, and across the room, Dean was drinking Jack and cleaning his pistol. Cas had gone out and gotten drunk the past three nights, and riding in the car there was so much silence he wanted to scream. Dean didn't even listen to music anymore, and when he'd asked if he wanted Metallica or AC/DC, Dean had just shaken his head. He'd tried to tell him yesterday that even if those were happy memories they weren't his favorites, but he hadn't gotten far before Dean stopped him with a quiet 'I don't want to talk about it, Sam.' that brooked no argument. If Sam had kept talking anyway he was pretty sure Dean wouldn't have stopped him, but what was the point if he wasn't listening?

What was the point to _any_ of this, honestly, because forget spiraling downward, they'd hit rock bottom and drilled past it. It was probably ironic that out of all of them, he was now the only one who had faith. Granted, it was also worthless because he couldn't do _anything_ alone. He could keep trying, sure, but he couldn't possibly succeed on all fronts, not at once. Either he could fix things with Dean or he could find God or he could stop the apocalypse or…or more likely, none of the above, but at the most he could only manage _one_. No matter what he did at this point, they were fucked.

Dean had named their search for Joshua as the last hope of a desperate man, but for him, this was it. He had a plan and he was gonna go for it with all he had and pray to some guy who apparently wanted him to back off that this wouldn't fall through. Because if it did, then he was back to the game of picking only _one_ thing he wanted to try and save. This…if he did it right, this could cover it all.

Or he was crazy, and at this point, that was a high possibility, but he had to try.

He pulled himself away from the mirror, flexed fingers that tingled from having held on too tight. "I'm goin' out." Everything he needed was already in the car; he'd made sure of that. Dean looked up from where he sat on the bed, one knee cocked up and his arm resting on it, gun open in his hands.

Their eyes met and Sam swallowed against the tightness in his throat, refused to let himself break down right here. If this worked, he'd never see this Dean again, and just then it didn't _matter_ that that was what he wanted, because this Dean was his brother too, and if Sam had been a better brother to him, he'd never have ended up like this.

"Bring Cas back if you see him. Don't really feel like another bar fight."

Yeah, that had been the night before last. He nodded, swiped the keys up off the table by the door before he could change his mind. He stopped at the door, his hand gripping the handle painfully tight, skin stretched white over his knuckles. He couldn't resist looking back, and he wasn't surprised to see that Dean wasn't looking anymore.

"I won't be long."

"Yeah, ok." He was wiping off the barrel.

Inside, Sam could feel something else breaking. He would've sworn there wasn't anything left that wasn't already cracked.

"Bye, Dean."

Once he was in the Impala, his resolve came back. There was a fine sheen of dust on the dash, and he wiped it off with loving fingers, his touch lingering like he was stroking a cat. "It's ok. I'm gonna fix him. I promise." He'd always ragged on Dean for talking to the car, but at the moment he didn't care. He'd turned some kind of corner and even if it was the fast track to insanity, he was well past caring.

The Impala roared to life around him, and he shot out of the parking lot and onto the deserted road, already thinking only of the future.

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He sat everything up in a deserted parking lot. There'd been a supermarket here once but it looked to be long closed, though the lights in the parking lot were still on. He settled in under one of them, moths buzzing around and pinging against the light high above his head. The Impala mostly blocked him from view of the street, though it hardly mattered. It was 3 AM, and in this little town practically no one was out.

The box of white chalk was down to 2 pieces, and it made him a little sick to remember that the last time he'd used this, it'd had been in summoning Ruby the day Dean died. The Latin flowed easily from his lips, going through the motions as he slit his palm open, offering blood. He wasn't sure but by his estimation the one he needed was important enough to need a little bit of sacrifice in the summoning, and in any case, better safe than sorry. The match burned bright, hissing in the dark as he dropped it and watched the spark rise. It was done.

He'd just barely let out the breath he'd been holding when he heard the voice he'd been expecting.

"You know, I really wasn't sure I'd ever hear from you boys again. Kind of assumed after I was wrong about the Colt; I'd be on your black list." Crowley was leaning back up against the Impala, straightening a blue silk tie. His eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses, but he sounded amused enough.

"I wanna make a deal."

Crowley laughed, pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. They glowed red briefly, no more than a flash in the night. "Seriously? And to think I thought you realized just how far in you two were. This is the last inning, Sam, and it's past the time when you boys could call a time out."

"More of a…do over, actually." He stood up, brushing the chalk off his hands and onto his jeans. "Look, just hear me out ok? I want to make a deal that takes me, with everything I know now, back to before this all started."

"What makes you think I can just-"

"Look, I'm not just _asking_ you to do it. I said I wanted to make a deal." This part, this was where it got sticky and probably impossible, but he was at the end of his rope, here. "So that means eventually, you guys own my soul. You can…take me and have me ready and waiting to offer Lucifer when he gets out of his cage." _God_ he hoped that wasn't the case.

"Excuse me but…why the hell would I want to do this? I mean, even if I could…which I can…why would I want to? I've already told you how I feel about all this end of the world business so why the _hell_ do you think I would-"

"Because maybe I can stop it!" His voice rose drowning Crowley out and getting his attention. "Crowley, I know _everything_ that happens and for pretty much all of it, I know _exactly_ where it went wrong. Don't you think that gives me the advantage?"

Crowley's eyes widened, and it was clear that now, he was thinking. He crossed his arms across his chest, head tilting back to look up at the light. "I doubt you can stop it from starting…but you've done a piss poor job of stopping it this time around and maybe if you knew what not to try…"

He really didn't want to rehash all this right now. If this worked, he wouldn't have to think about it for at least a couple years and besides, he was still hoping he _could_ avert it. That'd make stopping it totally unnecessary. "Will you do it? I mean worst case, I get 10 good years with Dean before the devil owns my ass like he almost does anyway."

"6 years…there's a schedule for these things. If I hold it up this deal'll draw even more attention than it already will. At 6 years I'll get a commendation for this, maybe a few perks…they'll _love_ the prospect of getting your soul. If I push it, then this becomes something for them to scrutinize and…well I don't like to draw attention."

Yeah, he didn't really want that either. He just wanted to slip under the radar, let them get secure in thinking he was gonna play right into their hands and just maybe, just _maybe_ everything would be different by the time 6 years rolled around. "Ok, 6, fine, whatever. Just…yes?"

Crowley rubbed his chin, nodding slowly. "Yes. Yes, I think so."

Thank God.

"Alright, I need a general idea of where you want me to-"

"Weeping Water, Nebraska." He didn't have a general idea of where he wanted to go, he had it _exact_. Down to the goddamn stretch of road. He'd remembered it well enough anyway, but after having seen it just a few days before, it was burned into his mind all over again, hovering somewhere behind his eyes. "August 10th ,2002. I had, uh…I left 13 days early to get myself there on time." As if Crowley cared, really. He was just getting lost in it too soon, his mind weighed down with every thought that had been running through it since they'd come back from heaven. "This stretch of road about two miles from…I think it was the Fletcher Road Motor Inn. I ended up at this run down old Texaco and I called a cab but…just set me down on the road. Across from this house with the lights still on…gotta be about 1 in the morning."

"Specific aren't we?" Crowley's eyebrows rose, the look in his eyes less curious than knowing. "You do realize, Sam, that the road to hell really _is_ paved with-"

"Can we just do this?"

Crowley held his hands up, smirking. "You know, I forget how damn hardheaded you Winchester's are. Frustrating family trait, I think." He held his hand out, beckoning Sam forward. "Well, come here, pretty boy. Let's get on with it."

He had no second thoughts, not really. There was a brief _I'm sorry, Dean_ that flitted through his head, but it didn't take root. He just stepped forward, took Crowley's hand and let Crowley pull him down for an all too real kiss. He tasted surprisingly good, like dark red wine and wood smoke, but Sam just wanted to get this part over with.

When Crowley pulled back he was smiling, and he shook his head. "I wish you luck, Sam. I really do."

Then, everything went dark.

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The first thing he saw was the house. Crowley'd sat him down in just the right place. It was there across the road, windows blazing with light, and Sam could hear the crickets singing in the late summer night air. He dropped the bag that had been slung over his shoulder and patted frantically at his pockets. The amulet was gone, and his cell was too, and it was a second before he could remember why that was. In a typical bout of rebellious adolescence he'd tossed it in a dumpster after he'd walked out, wanting to get a new one and a new number once he got out to Palo Alto. He'd reasoned that he had theirs, and when he called Dean to let him know he got there ok he could block his number so there'd be no way of dad getting it.

Looking back, it was stupid. Anything could've happened to him on the way there and he'd have had no way to contact Dean or dad and let them know. It would've saved him some time at the moment, too, because if he'd called Dean, he knew Dean would've been there to pick him up as fast as he could no matter how much they'd been fighting. And honestly, _this_ fight hadn't really been with Dean at all. In fact, Dean had hardly gotten a word in edgewise. Him and dad had gone at it spectacularly, cussing and screaming loud enough that if they'd had neighbors at the motel complex they'd have probably gotten themselves kicked out. Dean had mostly stood there looking stricken, like Sam had just punched him in the gut. Somehow, he'd been stupid enough not to think about it much at the time.

Of course in his defense, Dean was part of the reason _why_ he was leaving. The Dean he'd just left behind in 2010 would've jumped right on that, called it proof that Sam had never really given a damn about him in the first place but that absolutely just _wasn't_ true. It was the honest to God truth that he'd left mostly because of dad, and a little bit because he was smart enough to know that wanting your brother was a lot fucked up, and he'd been pretty sure that if he didn't get out and get some 'healthy' distance between them for awhile, he was gonna do something that screwed their relationship up forever. Sam did that, and they'd never be what they were, so better to put some space between them than to lose everything when he slipped up, right?

That part was something he'd never _seriously_ questioned, not until Ash had stood right there and flat out told them they were soulmates. A lot of cultures had different interpretations of the concept, that's true, but it didn't really matter. _Soulmates_. He might've been crazy, but it had felt like something he'd always known deep down, as if _this_ was the answer and he'd been waiting all his life for the confirmation. If they were bound like that, surely on _some_ level Dean wanted the same things he did, and while he'd never have accepted it where they were, maybe if he took things back, if he went for it at the time he should've to begin with…

That was the second half of all this. Prevent the apocalypse and fix his relationship with Dean. Well. He was pretty sure dad and a whole hell of a lot of other people wouldn't have considered it fixing, but he was also pretty sure at this point that 'they' were wrong. And that he wouldn't've have cared even if they weren't.

He hefted his bag back up over his shoulder and started back the way he'd come, eyes on the gravel in front of him on the shoulder. When he'd left before he could remember starting to walk backwards at this stretch, going slow and looking up and finding Cassiopeia, and thinking about how fucking happy he was that he was gonna be not only going to school but living without dad breathing down his neck. When he'd taken the cab to the bus stop he'd thought of Dean, and he'd started thinking about calling him up as soon as he got settled in his dorm, inviting him to drive out and visit.

In the end, though he'd called a few times that first year, Dean hardly ever picked up and he'd only come to see him twice. After they'd fought the second time, he'd stopped coming at all and they hadn't spoken for a little over two years, until Dean broke into his house with the news that dad was missing.

Really, this was gonna be better on several counts. Jess was probably home in Ojai just then, asleep in her bed with her old dog Baskin curled up next to her. He was a dachshund that had died before Sam met her, but she'd put a couple pictures up in the house and they'd been talking about getting a puppy once school calmed down. Without Sam in her life, she was gonna go on just fine. She'd get her teaching license, be a wonderful teacher and mother and wife to someone…just not him.

And honestly, he was more than ok with that. She got to live, and no matter what he'd felt for her, it had never come close to what he'd felt for Dean. Even when he'd wanted it to.

The Fletcher Road Motor Inn was just down the road now and he could see the 'vacancy' sign, gleaming red. There was a short somewhere in the wiring and it flickered, light buzzing and dimming like morse code against the sign. He tightened his hand on the strap of his bag until it dug in, and he almost tossed it down in frustration when he got close enough to see the parking lot.

The Impala was gone. He hadn't really thought about it before, but he had never known _what_ exactly had gone down right after he left. Wouldn't it just be his luck if they'd lit out of town? He'd have to go to the office to borrow a phone, to call and ask Dean to come pick him up. _That_ was gonna be a wonderful conversation to have over the phone, particularly if dad picked up.

Their room had been down on the end, first floor, and he went up to it, relieved to see the light still on inside. The curtain was mostly drawn but there was a crack at the edge, and he sidled up against the building and peered through it. He could see right off that their stuff was still there, and that would've been enough, but he shifted and changed the view, and what he saw then brought up one more reason to be _beyond_ thankful he was getting a chance to do all of this again. Even if it _did_ end in hell, this'd still be worth it. He'd meant every word he said to a young John Winchester that couldn't understand it, and now, maybe he'd get the chance to say it when it could actually mean something.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, and he looked so goddamn broken that Sam wanted to knock on the door right then. They'd fight even while he was trying to apologize, but just maybe he could get through that he was done running away, and maybe dad'd run short on yelling for awhile and just listen. But that was gonna have to wait a little because first, he had to find Dean.

Weeping Water was about the size of a postage stamp, and it wasn't hard to figure out where Dean had probably gone. Before hell and the apocalypse and everything that had turned everything on its head, Sam had had predicting Dean pretty much down to a science. He should, after all. Like he'd told Dean once, he'd been studying him all his life. When he was hurt like this, he buried it _hard_, put on his mask and went for alcohol and women and buried himself in his work. Since the hunt was already over in this town, he'd be at a bar, Sam was certain. The way he'd set out walking before was out of town, so when he got to the end of the parking lot this time he turned right instead of left, figuring he was sure of one of two things happening. Either he'd find the bar and find Dean, or Dean would eventually leave and have to drive past him on this road on his way back. Even drunk, Dean wasn't likely to miss seeing him walking down the road.

He'd barely made it five steps before his nerves were jangling, the anticipation eating at him. This…he wasn't sure he was going to be able to keep his cover for this. He needed to not react too far or Dean would be suspicious but _fuck_ he missed him. He missed the way he laughed, warm and open, missed the way his eyes lit up when he smiled. There was a lightness, a _confidence_ to young Dean that he hadn't seen in years. He was gonna be confronted with a 22 year old Dean that had never seen hell, never tortured, never been asked to kill his own brother, never watched Sam die, never even watched him walk away. Until tonight, but now…now he was gonna fix that, make sure that weight never settled in on his shoulders and that the others never came at all, and just maybe 30 year old Dean would end up with only a few more scars on the outside to show for the time, everything that mattered still intact.

Intact, and strengthened, because if Ash had been right, then every time Sam had ever thought the way he thought about his brother had been _wrong_, it had been right, and if Dean had felt the same, well…

There was probably such a thing as too optimistic, but honestly, he'd just come out of a world where getting shot point blank by a shotgun by other hunters was par for the course. Here, he'd never drunk demon blood, never trusted Ruby, never freed Lucifer. Here, he'd never let Dean down so bad his brother would be willing to give up on him. To have his love again, to have his _trust_…he wasn't gonna take a second of it for granted. Not this time.

He nearly broke into a run when he saw the car. The Impala was parked outside of Hank's Place, chrome gleaming dully in the light of a single street lamp. He was so eager he almost headed right in before he remembered he wasn't 26 anymore. He knelt down on the sidewalk, slinging his bag around and sifting through until he found the fake ID Dean had made for him last year. With the skills they'd been taught it was perfect, and he'd never been caught using it. He could still remember the first time Dean had given it to him with a somewhat stern "Don't tell dad, ok?", and had taken him out to buy him his first _real_ beer(not that he hadn't been drinking cans right along with Dean for a few years before that). That? That was another one of those good memories Dean _hadn't_ seen.

With his bag slung back over his shoulder he made his way inside, showing the ID to a waitress he passed who clearly didn't believe him at first. He wasn't in the mood to be held up, and he practically snatched it back when she handed it to him, his heart hammering in his chest. Dean was somewhere in here, and in just a few minutes…

_There_. He was at the bar, leather jacket off and slung across the stool next to him. The number of empty shots in front of him told Sam how quick he'd been goin' through them, and _God_ it hurt. He was glaring down at the bar like _it_ had wronged him too, and his fingers were slowly turning a full shot on the counter. When he knocked it back, Sam snapped out of it.

He crossed the space between them as quick as he could, eager. "_Dean_." Just then it was all he could say.

Dean turned to look at him slow, drunk enough that his reflexes were a little dim. His eyebrows rose, that same wall Sam had grown all too familiar with covering most of the hurt in his eyes. Sam knew where to look, though, and he could still see it shining through.

"Well, aren't you somethin'. What is it, Sam, you want to rub it in a little more before you go? Look I get it, you made it pretty damn clear the first time, ok? You wanna be normal, you never wanted us and-"

"Dean, _no_, ok, I do, I…" Fuck, this was hard. The first time he'd talked to Dean before, it had been three months down the road, and he'd been gushing to him about how awesome college was. Dean had sat on the other end of the line and listened, and Sam hadn't been able to stop talking for five seconds to hear how much was being said in his silence. "Dean, I-"

"Look, will you just go? I'm dealing, I'm fine, you don't have to…I'm not gonna be some burden to you, Sam, which is apparently _all_ we've ever been. You said you're leaving, fine. You know how I feel about it; there's nothing left to-"

This was going even worse than he'd thought and he went on reflex, his hand darting out to pull on Dean's arm, turning him just a little more to face him. "Will you _stop_? I changed my mind, ok? I don't…I don't want to go. I want to stay." The words were so true they _hurt_, burning through his throat and stinging behind his eyes. He couldn't let Dean see him cry over this, though, because Dean wouldn't understand. This wasn't coming home after 2 hours it was coming home after something just over 2 years, and the need to be welcomed back was so strong it was clawing in his chest. Dean was silent, and it was all too clear he just didn't want to hope. "I…it's dad, he's just been driving me crazy, but I…I was leaving, and I couldn't…" Yeah, forget the not crying thing. That was out of the question. "Dean, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave you, ok? I…you're my brother. I can't. I was wrong, and I just…I want to stay."

He'd almost forgotten that back then, Dean forgave him as easy as that. Easier, really. One 'I'm sorry' probably would've been enough, but honestly, he was apologizing for way more than this. Dean jerked him into a one armed hug, rough and natural, and Sam tried not to hold on too tight. Dean ruffled his hair when he pushed him back, and Sam reacted on instinct, reaching up to smack his hand away.

Dean tapped on the bar, drawing the bartender's attention. "Can I get a shot of Jack for me and m' brother over here?"

When it came, Dean held his up, waited for Sam to knock his against it. His hand might've shook just a little, whiskey spilling over his fingers, but Dean never drew attention to things like that, never teased him when it was _important_.

They took it together, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight as he focused on the feel of the burn in his throat. He heard Dean set his glass down on the counter, listened to the scrape of wood as he dragged it closer to the others.

"You know, Sam…I just can't help thinkin' this isn't the first time you've-"

"I know." He _really_ really didn't want to talk about this. But he needed to, all the same. He dragged his head up, forced himself to meet Dean's eyes. "I'm done leaving. I mean it. I didn't…I missed you."

Dean rolled his eyes, looked away to counter the smile Sam could see twitching at the corners of his mouth, the way the tension in his shoulders had eased. "Oh please. You didn't have time to miss me."

Yes, he had. Far too much time. "Sure I did."

Dean shook his head, but now, he actually _was_ smiling. He slapped Sam on the back, stood up a little unsteadily off his bar stool. "Alright, bitch. C'mon, let's get outta here. Think I've had enough."

Sam picked his bag up and hung it off his left shoulder, let Dean lean just a little on his right. He could almost walk straight but not quite, and though Sam tried to put an arm around Dean to help him Dean shook it off, letting go of him entirely for a minute before reaching for his shoulder to steady himself again a couple steps later.

"Just how many of those did you have?"

"Shuddup."

Sam laughed, pushed the door open sideways and they stepped out into the night air. Dean stopped just outside the door, fishing around in his jacket pockets from the keys. "Where to, Sammy?"

_Sammy_. God, it had never sounded better. "Home?"

Dean laughed, sharp and incredulous but still easy. "I can't take you _home_, not right now, dad'll rip you a new one! Come on we'll just…let's just drive for awhile, huh?"

Yeah, that sounded alright. Except that at the moment, Dean wasn't exactly fit to drive anywhere. Sam caught his hand once he found the keys, long fingers closing around his brother's hand. Dean gave him the full on big brother 'oh hell no' look, and Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that honestly _happy_. Really, though, he should've given Dean a disapproving look rather than a smile, but he was hoping Dean was _just_ drunk enough not to really notice.

"C'mon, you're not drivin' like this. I can do it."

"Sam, I've driven drunk. More than this, in fact, and you-"

"Yeah, I've been there. Still not smart. C'mon, man, what was the point of teachin' me how to drive the Impala if I can't do it for you every now and then?" That was another good memory, right down to his telling Dean it was about time he and the car got a room after Dean had told him all the rules about how to take care of her while he was driving.

Dean let the keys slip out of his fingers, and walked around the hood until he could slide into the other side. Sam slipped in, tossed his bag over the seat and into the back. He'd grown just a little bit since he was 18, and it felt strange not fitting into the seat just the same. Still, nothing had changed about how the wheel felt in his hands, and the dash was clean, everything about her speaking to just how well she was loved. This Impala had never been his alone, had never been totaled by a semi and rebuilt under Dean's hands. She was perfect and whole like she had been the day dad bought her, and this time, she was gonna stay that way.

As soon as he turned the car on and started backing up Dean slid closer to the center, fiddling with the tape deck and turning up Zeppelin once he had it in. Sam smiled, rolled down the windows and leaned his arm against the door as he took the wheel in one hand.

"I thought the driver picked the music."

"That rule only applies if the driver's music doesn't suck."

Sam just shook his head, smile widening when Dean started to sing along with Travelling Riverside Blues. This world was looking better already.

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	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much to everyone who commented on the first chapter! :D I was really hoping there'd be interest in the idea, and I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far, ^^

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They ended up on a lonely stretch of road just down from the Texaco. Sam had stopped and gotten them a couple of beers, and he'd felt a certain sense of satisfaction walking past the pay phone. Around this time before, he'd probably been handing a roll of bills to an old black man for taking him to the Lincoln bus station.

They were laying back on the hood, lights off, and Sam had one boot kicked up against the bumper, his beer resting against the inside of his leg.

"Sam?"

He could hear the uncertainty in Dean's voice and he turned his head over to look at him, his cheek resting against still warm metal. "Hm?"

"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, if things with dad are so bad you're seriously ready to leave for good then don't you think that's something we coulda talked about? I mean…look, I know I'm not always the greatest about gettin' everything out there myself, but you know you can _talk_ to me, right?"

If this was gonna work, he was gonna have to stop letting everything Dean said get to him. This was _it_ now, everything he'd thought was gone, and he couldn't let himself gawp in shock over it too much or Dean would know something was wrong. He raised up on one elbow and took a sip of his beer, sat up all the way and looked off down the road. It curved just ahead, trees arching dark over faded double yellow lines.

"I know. You're right, I should've, and I'm sorry, but I just…it was stupid. I felt like it was just closing in on me, you know? And if I didn't get out and go to school _now_ and take the life I've thought I've wanted for myself, it felt like I wasn't gonna get another chance and I'd just be…" He'd just be stuck hunting forever, always on the road and on the run, never with a place to call home, always watching what he wanted most out of the corner of his eye and never being able to take it. He'd been wrong on several counts. The road wasn't so bad. Hell, he _knew_ now there were far worse things. The road _alone_ for one, and several others. And _this_, this was home, the way he felt with Dean's boot knocking a little against his as he sat up beside him, their shoulders brushing.

"Look maybe…maybe you can go to school, alright, maybe we can get dad to settle down a little somewhere and you wouldn't have to miss too much class, I mean-"

"No." It was a little surprising even now how _not_ tempting it was. That was a dream he'd realized wasn't really what he wanted a long time ago. There were some things that seemed better because you'd never had them, one of those 'the grass is always greener' principles. He'd tasted normal, even if it was only for awhile, and the older he'd gotten the more he'd realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There was _Dean_ and hunting and the way it felt to hand a little girl back to her mother that was alive all because of them, and that was all more than enough. "I just…it was stupid."

"You sure? Cause I can talk to him for you, I know you two go at it every time you open your mouth, but-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna work on that." He could feel Dean's stare more than he could see it, and he was glad Dean was still just on the edge of having had too much. All the way sober, he'd have questioned that to the ends of the earth. "Dean, I really am sorry."

"It's ok, Sammy." He took a drink, tapped the empty bottle against his knee before dropping it to the gravel. "I, uh…I'm glad you came back."

"Yeah. Me too." In more ways than one. He nudged Dean with his shoulder as he hopped down off the hood, draining the last of his beer. "C'mon. Kinda tired, it's been a hell of a day."

"Oh it's been a hell of a day for _you_, huh?" It hurt, but there was little bite to it, and Dean got up and followed him. Dean got in the back, and he was just about to stretch out when Sam slipped in the other side, almost laughing at the look Dean gave him. "Seriously, circus freak? You do realize it's been about 5 years since we _both_ fit back here?"

"Scoot over." He shoved on him a little, pushed Dean to the side until they were both stretched out on the seat as best they could. Dean was still grumbling but already cooperating, and he folded his jacket up to rest his head, Sam resting his own head against Dean's shoulder. They'd done this a thousand times when there were kids and quite a few as teenagers while dad drove all night, and even as much as they didn't fit and it was uncomfortable as hell, it still felt _right_. His hand rested against Dean's arm and he felt more than heard Dean's breath catch, his body shuffling and turning just a little away. How the _hell_ had he never noticed before? He'd been so caught up in watching himself, in making sure he never gave anything away, but now, he could feel the way Dean's head dropped back just a little, bearing his neck when Sam shifted and rested his head more fully on his shoulder.

This alone would've been worth going to hell over, but if what he'd seen in heaven was right, it wasn't _anything_ they'd be damned for so much as it was something that just _was_, something they'd been too afraid to take. Still, even knowing Dean had to feel the same, he didn't want to push it. He let his hand curl around Dean's arm, holding him close, but that was as much as he allowed himself. For tonight, it was enough.

They kicked their boots off and finished settling in. Outside, even the crickets were dying down. Dean slept and he didn't, and it was the most rest he'd had in years.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Seeing dad again for the first time in three years, seeing him _alive_…it was indescribable. Words he shouldn't have said yet anyway stuck in his throat, and he wanted to go to him and hug him and be sure he was real so bad it felt like a physical need. He wanted suddenly to tell him everything, about the demon blood and Lucifer and how fucking goddamn scared he was and how he'd missed him and they'd needed him and how this time, he wasn't gonna fuck everything up.

What he did, though, was freeze, and that was at least a _little_ closer to how he should've been acting. He saw everything flash through his eyes, shock and hurt and anger and even knowing how bad dad hadn't wanted him to go, Sam was still surprised to see that it was happiness that stuck.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Hey, dad." He still hadn't moved from the doorway and he could feel Dean behind him, a solid presence at his back.

"Listen I…I said a lot of things that-"

"No, dad, it's ok. Me too." He stepped forward, rushed to get it all out because maybe if he said it fast, he'd keep himself from saying _everything_. "Dad, I'm sorry, and I don't want to go and I'm not gonna be leaving again and I don't hate you, I never have I just…" God, even remembering he'd once said that, had once _believed_ that hurt. Youth made you feel like you could take everything on alone, but what it didn't tell you was how lonely alone actually felt. "I'm sorry, and I'm gonna stay, and just…can we not fight? Try that for awhile?" Using _those_ words back at dad nearly broke him, because he could see that hospital room in his mind all over again, dad with his arm in a sling, standing in the door and smiling more serenely than someone going to hell had any right to. But he was starting to think that maybe that was something he understood. If you made a deal for the right reasons, once you saw the outcome, you felt pretty damn ok.

He was probably even more startled than he looked, and Sam could see some of it in his eyes. But he nodded, and he pulled Sam into a hug with familiar strong arms that he'd missed so fucking much. When he pulled away he patted Sam on the shoulder, and he turned away almost quick enough for Sam not to see his eyes glistening. He told them to pack, that they were hitting the road, and Sam's instinctive murmured 'yes sir' was echoed by Dean's.

When he looked back at the door, he could see the change in Dean, the easiness he had about him now, and he watched just a little too long. Long enough for Dean to notice, at least, and he threw Sam's half empty duffel at his head.

"Get packing, Sasquatch. Time to go."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Even being pretty sure he'd be well received if he acted on what he _really_ wanted, it was a few weeks before he worked up the nerve to try. In his head it was understandable and even justifiable. He didn't wanna push Dean, and honestly, he wasn't really any more ready than Dean was. He'd spent most of the time since he was 12 or 13 telling himself he had to squash the way he felt about his brother nearly every time it came to mind, so other than jerking off and picturing Dean, he had no basis for acting rational about this. It was hard enough not to shove it out of his mind, much less think about _acting_ on it, but after awhile, that got a little easier.

He went for it slow at first, sitting a little closer than he strictly had to, pressing his palm flat against Dean's back while he patched him up after their first hunt, altogether touching him just a little more than necessary. He was pushing in little ways, biding his time and trying to be sure he had the nerve to follow through if he got the right opportunity.

It was Friday, and they'd just spent the afternoon digging a grave in a field out in the hot Augusta, Georgia sun. Even in September it was still summer here, and Sam had taken off his shirt while they worked, felt the sun beating down on his back as he bent over the shovel. It hadn't been until near the end that he'd noticed Dean watching him out of the corner of his eye, and he played it up just a little without even really thinking about it, stretching and letting his jeans slip just a little lower on his hips.

When they got back to the room Dean took the first shower without asking, and from where he lay stretched out on the bed, Sam could hear the muffled sounds of Dean jerking off in the shower. His moans were soft and quiet, restrained, and Sam panted at the sound, his body arching as he rubbed at the front of his own jeans. _God_, what he'd give to hear Dean make those sounds unrestrained and under his touch. It didn't take long to get himself off after that, and he cleaned up with a couple of tissues and was sitting down on the edge of the bed watching Star Wars by the time Dean got out of the shower. He let his eyes rake over his chest, linger just a little more than they should've, and he brushed up against him a little on his way into the bathroom.

He was still nervous, still terrified, but he _knew_ the look he'd seen in Dean's eyes out in the field. He'd worn it enough times himself, and he'd watched just as carefully. It was want and need and connection and dependence all rolled up into one, and it was long past time they both stopped _looking_.

That night they buried the corpse of the woman who they'd known couldn't survive the demon riding her, and when they finished salting and burning her bones, he'd come up close behind his brother and told him it seemed like a good night for a few drinks.

They drove to the liquor store with the windows down and Pink Floyd playing, and Dean bought them a six pack of something other than dirt cheap beer and a bottle of Jack. They argued over baseball and who'd be going to the World Series, and when he was drunk enough and still smiling, Dean told Sam he was thinking maybe they should talk to dad about taking a hunt on their own.

Sam moved just a little closer, his arm pressing against Dean's. "That'd be great, Dean, but I'm not sure he'll let us just yet." That was probably gonna have to wait a couple years, but his urgency had kind of faded. These were _good _years, the years before the apocalypse, years before Azazel had even come out of hiding. They could afford to breathe, to _live_ a little first.

"Hey, I think we make a pretty good team."

They were in the grass, side by side but facing opposite directions, and Sam hooked his right arm around his knee as he leaned in just a little closer. "Yeah. We do."

Dean was looking down, thinking, and this close he was breathtaking. Everything about him had looked hard later on, cold and distant and this…this was his big brother the way he remembered him, the one person he'd loved more than anything for as long as he could remember, and when it finally came to acting he did it entirely without thinking.

He brought his left hand up to cup Dean's cheek, and he kissed him before Dean could question him. Even as startled as he had to have been, Dean didn't make Sam wonder if he'd done the right thing for long. He kissed back almost right away, lips moving eagerly against his, and when Sam flicked his tongue against Dean's lips he moaned, opening for Sam like he'd just been waiting for an excuse to do it. Dean tasted like whiskey and something Sam couldn't place that had to be just _Dean_, and he chased after that, licking deep into his mouth and groaning when Dean's hand came up to hold him there.

They kissed until Sam knew he wouldn't be able to stop if they kept going, and going farther than this, that was a something he wanted them both entirely clearheaded for. This first time, he'd just needed to get the possibility out there, to test the waters and make sure he wasn't going to drown. Dean slowed with him, catching on, but he didn't stop touching him, hand sliding down his arm before he pulled Sam in close, head tucking into Sam's shoulder, breathing against his throat.

Everything he could've wanted to say went too deep for words, and Sam didn't even try. He wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders and held him there, soaking the memory into his skin. He hoped heaven was paying attention.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"I wasn't _that_ drunk, you know."

Sam jerked a little, knife slipping on the whetstone. There were some conversations you _really_ shouldn't have while working with weapons but then again, for the two of them this was pretty much everyday work, motions drilled into them by repetition and muscle memory. He waited for Dean to elaborate.

"And I think you _have_ to know that, so when exactly were you planning on explaining all of that?"

"All of what?" Yeah, wrong answer. Dean's hands stilled on the rifle, glaring as he picked up the rag.

"Cute."

He licked his lips, considering. "Why do you think?"

"What is this, 20 questions? I asked you a goddamn question, Sam, and I know you know what I'm talking about so why don't you-"

"Because I wanted to." More than anything, even more than the way Dean had kissed him in the field last night, this proved he'd been right to go for it. Dean didn't get upset over just anything, didn't bother getting worked up unless it actually meant something to him, something real. Dean was watching him, and he put his own eyes back on his hands and the knife, kept working as he tried to say it just right. "Did you think about that? I mean, why else would I? I wanted to, and I have for a long time, and it's kind of part of why I thought I should go, but it's…if we both want it, I guess there's not anything wrong with it."

Holy shit this was hard, almost as hard as he'd always been so afraid it would be. The thing was, though, not saying it…in the long run, that was harder.

"Lot of people'd disagree with that." His voice was quiet, soft and unreadable even to Sam and his heart beat faster in his chest, good old fashion nerves mixed with honest fear. If he was wrong, if Dean didn't…

"Do you?" God, he sounded like a five year old.

But this was Dean, and just like every other time in his life Sam had ever felt vulnerable, his brother was there, putting down the rifle and reaching across the table to force Sam's hands to still on the whetstone.

"No. No, Sammy, of course not, and you don't know how much I…" He cut himself off, shaking his head, his eyes darkening. "But this? We can't do this. It's fucked up, Sam, and somebody, somebody could find out and-"

"And what? Tell us we're going to hell?" Yeah, no threat there. "Dean, I'm not scared. I'm not scared at all, not of _this_, not of someone knowing, not anything other than what could happen to us if we never do anything about it because I know it's driving me crazy, Dean, and if you feel the same way about it at all then it's driving you crazy too, and it is, isn't it?" Please, God, let him say yes.

He looked down, studying the table, but his hands didn't move away from Sam's. "This…this isn't normal, Sammy. I know what you want, ok, and it isn't this. I can't…" He laughed, tried to play off how obviously hard it was for him to keep pushing back. "I can't give you what you want, Sam, not in the long run, and if we do this, that's what it's gonna have to be. I mean, I don't think this is somethin' we could start and stop whenever wanted, man, it's gonna…it's too big. We do this, it's gonna leave a mark." Yeah, that's exactly what he was hoping. If they did this, it'd be for good. It'd change things, change _them_ forever. But even having it almost handed to him, Dean was still hardwired not to let himself take what he wanted, not without trying to look out for Sam first.

This time around, Sam wasn't gonna let him be so self sacrificing. Especially when he was wrong. "You're my brother. You're more than enough, Dean, trust me. Everything else, all that other stuff I wanted…it just _looks _nice. This is _real_, Dean, and it's everything. It's _right_. C'mon, I know what I'm asking here, and I _mean_ it. I'm not sayin' just for right now I'm…this is it. This is what I want. If you want it too."

"Sammy…" He was cracking, resolve crumbling under Sam's pleas, and he hadn't looked back up at him yet.

"I'm serious, Dean. I want this. And I _know_ you do, too. So just…it doesn't have to be hard. Just us." As natural as breathing. It wouldn't be hard at all.

"But it's not that easy! You're my little brother, Sam, I'm supposed to look out for you, and to do this…I _can't_."

"Well, who says you can't still look after me? I mean, I'm pretty sure you're gonna be doin' that regardless, even though I'm not a kid anymore. And besides, I'm _your_ brother too, you know. Maybe this way, we can look out for each other?" Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. And maybe this way, they'd change everything.

The Impala drove up outside just then and their hands jerked apart. Sam nicked himself with the knife, and he brought his thumb to his mouth, sucking at the welling blood as the door opened.

"Think I've got a case. Found an obit two states over, woman home alone was strangled in her kitchen by an extension cord with the doors locked. "

"Sounds like a poltergeist." Dean's voice only sounded just a little strained.

"That's what I thought. 'M gonna jump in the shower, you boys get everything ready to go, ok?"

They both nodded, and the minute dad wasn't watching Dean yanked Sam's hand away from his mouth by the wrist, pulling him toward the bed. There was a small first aid kit in the nightstand drawer and Dean pulled it out, cleaning and bandaging it quick. Sam was antsy, and he was just about to bring it up again when Dean finished, his hands lingering on Sam's.

"Ok."

He blinked, a little afraid to believe it. "Ok?"

"If you mean this, if…" He looked up, jade green eyes meeting his. Dean was the only person he ever felt looked _into_ him rather than at him. It had always been that way. "Just me and you. And that's it."

There were a dozen meanings in there, and Sam caught all the ones he didn't say. Dean would quit sleeping around and he'd quit running away, and there'd just be the two of them. They'd leaned on each other in every other aspect of their lives and this was it, the last one, the last move that would clench it. If they did this, they literally wouldn't _need_ anyone else ever again.

It felt just as altering as he'd thought it would.

"Yeah. Ok."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Dad drove all night. Sam took the front seat, navigating, and they only almost fought once. He was really getting better at it. He could never be as flatly accepting as Dean would, but he could skirt around digging in his heels just for sake of wanting his way. If it meant he got some more good years with his dad, he could do it. He was sure they were gonna have plenty more knock down drag out fights in their future, but at least there wouldn't be _as_ many. And at least this time, dad'd be around for a lot more of them, because there was no way in _hell_ he was gonna let him die now that he could stop it.

Around three Dean sat forward from the back, his arm dangling over the edge of the seat and brushing against Sam's shoulder, and Sam felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. It was one thing wanting Dean and knowing he couldn't touch, but it was something else entirely to know that he _could_ and hadn't yet really had the opportunity. That was more than a little maddening, and considering that physically he was 18 all over again, it was all he could do to hide the fact that he kept being affected by it, no matter how hard he tried not to.

Dean squeezed his shoulder, hard, and he could feel the promise in it.

_Just wait and you'll get what you want_.

Except the thing was, he'd been waiting for a damn long time. Technically, that probably should've made it easier to wait just a little longer, but it didn't. Not to mention that when they did check into a room dad was right there, and after questioning one person he suggested they all get plenty of sleep so they'd be totally fresh to head out the next day. It was still late afternoon, and they pulled the curtains as far as they could to block out the sun.

Getting into bed with Dean, then, was harder than it ever had been. They'd shared for years, sure and there'd been dozens of nights when he'd even jerked off with Dean there, even _thinking_ of Dean with Dean right there, all quiet and quick under the covers. But this, this was knowing that if they were alone and he turned to kiss his brother Dean would welcome it, and that was torture.

He was trying to calm down and go to sleep, _God_ he was trying, but he was too hard, too hyperaware of the weight of Dean's body against the mattress just inches away. Dean rolled over to face him, then, and Sam gasped softly as Dean's palm flattened against his ribs. He wanted this, _fuck_ he did, but he'd been through a lot of shit in his life, and surely he could manage to wait a couple days for the right opportunity. After everything else, all the _real_ problems he'd had, that should've felt like nothing. Their first time touching each other shouldn't have to be like this, all rushed and quiet and when they couldn't fully appreciate it.

The look in Dean's eyes was all seriousness, and he leaned in to press up against Sam's chest. He could feel Dean then, hard against his hip, and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from crying out. He tasted iron and then Dean was there, kissing the blood away and soothing the mark with his own tongue, warm and thorough. "Can you be quiet, Sammy?"

No. No, that really wasn't going to happen, probably. But his brain wasn't exactly working anymore. He ran a hand down Dean's back, and he bit his lip this time when Dean pressed closer.

"Stop that." Dean whispered the words against his lips, pulled Sam's lower lip between his own and sucked at it until was sure he was gonna start whimpering and begging for Dean to put that talent to use somewhere else. Dean stopped just short of that, and when he pulled back Sam could see the pure desire burning in his eyes. "Quiet, ok? Just this once."

That he definitely agreed with, because this was something he wanted to savor, to take full advantage of when they were alone and he could explore Dean's body as he wanted. But right now he felt like if Dean didn't touch him he was gonna go crazy.

There were only a handful of people who _really_ knew Dean, the way he was once you got to know him not the way he was to an outsider, and even out of those Sam was the only one to ever know him down to the core. Dean was guarded and he was rough and he didn't let much inside, but once you were in, you stayed there. He didn't talk about the way he felt often but when he did he meant every word. More often than not, everything anyone could have wanted him to say would be written in his body language anyway, if you knew where to look. And his eyes, it was there a lot too.

He was strong and a near fearless hunter, and he could kill when he needed to better than Sam could ever manage. But there were things he loved, and he was different then. His weapons, his car, his brother, those were _his_, and unless something was seriously wrong he never touched them with anything but a gentle hand. Sam had known that already but he was learning it all over again in the way Dean was touching him now. Reverent and a little cautious, like he could hardly believe he had the chance and he might never get it again.

They couldn't stretch this out, though, and Dean knew it, and he settled for only rubbing Sam's chest a few times, pressed tight to Sam's side as he slid his hand down to the band of his boxers. Dean kissed him to swallow the soft sound he couldn't hide at that first touch, his hips bucking up frantically into Dean's hand. Whatever he'd imagined, he'd have never thought it would actually feel _that_ good.

Dean stroked him without teasing, quick and sure, and his whisper in Sam's ear was low with arousal in a way Sam had never heard it before. He already loved the sound. "I got ya, Sam. I'm gonna take care of you. Come on, we'll do this for real when we can, just let go, Sammy, c'mon." That was more than an easy request to follow. It didn't take long at all before he was coming in Dean's grasp, trying not to pant as he twitched and spilled over Dean's fingers, but the most satisfying part of all was the way Dean swore at the feeling, burying his face into Sam's neck and sucking lightly at the juncture of his shoulder.

He could tell from the way Dean's hips were jerking slightly against his that the urge to thrust and come against his hip was almost overwhelming, but the damn motel bed was just too fucking loud with dad sleeping about 2 feet away.

Dean slipped a hand into his own boxers, ready to finish himself off quick, and he knocked Sam's hand away when Sam tried to reach for him. He was too close, Sam could tell, and he apparently he wanted to wait and let Sam touch him when he wasn't _quite_ so on the edge of falling apart. It was only two strokes before he came, and he gasped softly as he did, his breath hitching when Sam raked his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean tucked himself all the way back into his boxers, and he wiped his hand and Sam's chest off with a corner of the sheet. It wasn't ideal and Sam felt sticky and he couldn't help but wish they were alone so he could strip out of his boxers and change beds and maybe even shower before he slept. But when it came down to it, all of that was just details.

He slid one arm under his pillow, settling in to sleep on his stomach. Dean was watching him, and Sam could see the doubt starting to creep into his eyes. He reached over and pulled Dean into a slow kiss, keeping him close afterward until their breath evened out.

"Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."

He knew Dean was still thinking, and by the time he was drifting off he wasn't even sure Dean was asleep, but most of the doubt had left him the last time Sam had looked. This was just normal Dean worrying, and that was _always_ gonna happen over something as big as this. When Sam woke up they were still close, his hand resting against Dean's shoulder. Dean was still watching the ceiling and he didn't look like he'd slept at all, but he closed his eyes and smiled just a little when he felt Sam move.

"Hey, Sammy."

He tightened his hand on Dean's shoulder, pulled himself a little closer. "You ok?"

"Nah. I'm great."

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	3. Chapter 3

I'd almost forgotten how happy the beginning of this was…is it too cruel to warn you not to get used to it? ^^;; hehe

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"Alright, what's goin' on with you?"

They were washing the Impala out behind a cheap do it yourself car wash in Christiansburg, Virginia, and Dean was looking up at him over the trunk, questioning and a little disbelieving. Sam's heart jumped in his throat, and he rubbed just a little harder at a spot of dirt near the back windshield. He'd been afraid of this for awhile now. Dean knew him better than anyone else, and if anyone was gonna be able to tell the change in him, he definitely would. Still, this was a secret he was wanting to keep for awhile, maybe forever.

So, he improvised. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Just…_you_! I mean, the other night you pulled a move on that spirit I know I didn't teach you, and you're all gung ho about this ghoul hunt and you're not bitching about anything and-"

"So let me get this straight, you're _complaining_ about my lack of complaining? Seriously, Dean?"

"No! It's just…" Dean licked his lips, his eyes turning away from Sam to look down at the chrome he was polishing. "It's just not like you, and if there's something I don't know about goin' on here…"

Every day Sam was pretty sure he couldn't be any more surprised with the way things were turning out, but he got proved wrong a lot. It had only been a couple weeks now since everything between them had changed, but already the differences weren't just restricted to the fact that when they were alone they could hardly keep their hands off each other. The others were subtle so far, like the way Dean had shielded him just a little more possessively when that last spirit had started throwing firewood at about 90 miles an hour behind the house and the way Dean was trying to talk to him now, but in the long run, it was probably _these_ changes that were gonna be the most important.

He _wanted_ them to be able to talk about anything, really he did. Just not _this_. "And the thought that I'm _happy_ hasn't occurred to you?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but-" He didn't let Dean finish. Instead he flicked the hose up, hitting him squarely in the chest, and it was just as effective of a distraction as he'd hoped it would be. It was about half a second before Dean sprang into action, coming around the back of the car and catching up to Sam somewhere near the front tire. He tackled him to the ground and they wrestled around with the hose, both getting thoroughly soaked in the process. It ended up in Dean's hands when they stopped, out of breath, Sam straddling Dean's hips and keeping him pinned to the ground. Dean had been holding it under the car, and he swung it up to splash Sam in the face, laughing when Sam coughed and smacked his hand away.

"You admit defeat?"

He shook wet hair out of his eyes, settled his hips a little more firmly against Dean's as he leaned forward. "What defeat? I've got you pinned."

"Oh c'mon, I _let_ you. And I've got the hose." He brought it out again, tried to stick it down Sam's shirt but Sam caught his wrists and pushed back, trapping them against the concrete. That time, it was obvious Dean let him, and his breath quickened as he leaned over. Like this he could watch Dean's pupils dilating, feel his pulse beat just a little faster under Sam's fingers. Dean licked his lips, and Sam watched his tongue with rapt attention, hungry for it. "Alright, Sammy. Gotta let me up." He wasn't pushing back, not in the slightest, but Sam could feel Dean hardening against him, and he understood. Much as they wanted to, they couldn't do this here.

He slid off him reluctantly, reaching down and taking Dean's hand to help pull him to his feet. It was Dean that held on just a little longer than he needed to that time, and Dean pulled him into his side as he pushed the hose back into his hand, the fingers of his other hand catching all too briefly on Sam's belt loop.

His tactic had worked, and Dean didn't question him about it again. From there they just kept playing, throwing soap and sponges and water at each other and somewhere in there managing to get the car sort of clean. When they finished Dean informed him there was no way in _hell_ they were riding on the leather wet, so they walked up and over the hill back behind the place to where it was at least somewhat secluded, and they laid out in the sun to dry. Somewhere in there he got Dean on his back again, and though he started out pinning Dean's wrists they ended up holding hands, sharing breath more than kissing as they rubbed against each other with their jeans jerked down just below their hips.

Laying beside him in the grass afterwards with their jeans buttoned up and their shirts still off Dean had one hand resting against Sam's thigh and the other playing with the amulet against his chest, and for the first time since he'd come back Sam was honestly afraid.

Already, this wasn't anything like before. He was barely two months into his six years, and already he had so much more to lose.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

By December, they'd really settled in. If he wasn't directly thinking about it, even _he_ could hardly remember what it was like before _this_, before Dean was literally everything in the world to him. There was still dad and Bobby, sure, and someday there'd be Ellen and Jo, and he'd care about Cas even if he never met him this time around, but none of them came close to the weight of the way he felt about his brother.

They'd been together most of the time before, but now, they hardly ever separated. Even dad had noticed it, but he just seemed pleased by it, happy to see his boys close, to see Sam not bucking against his every word. So all things considered, he didn't get as worked up as he might have when Dean presented a case to him that seemed to be shaping up in the town of Newton, New Hampshire and asked if he and Sam could go take care of it themselves while he finished up the revenant they'd been dealing with.

He'd deliberated, but Dean had picked a good first one to ask about, because from the information already present this was clearly gonna be a routine salt and burn. It'd be good training for them, he argued, and they could take care of it now and save a few people that might be lost if they waited and went together. He relented, and for the first time, they were _really_ on their own.

Dean drove, of course, though they only made it about 2 hours out at first before he stopped and pulled over and they made out by the side of the road until the car got cold. He'd slipped down in the seat then, licking his lips and already thinking about how Dean would taste when he took him in his mouth but Dean had stopped him, sayin' he wanted to wait until they got where they were goin'. One diner and two gas stations later they were in Newton, and they stopped at the Greenbriar Inn.

They didn't even bother unpacking the car, not at first, and they hardly made it in the door before they were all over each other, Dean's hands already sliding under his shirt. They'd done this a few times in an actual bed when dad had been out, but they'd never had _this_ level of certainty that they were alone and they could do whatever they wanted.

They stripped quick, didn't even bother to pull down the covers before they ended up on the bed, Dean over him at first. Their hands were everywhere, and Dean reached down to cup his balls, his body shuddering at the sound Sam made when he did. He flipped Dean over then, kissing a trail down his chest, but when he was just about to wrap his lips around what he really wanted, Dean pushed him away.

"Wait, Sammy." His eyes were dark, needy and uncertain, and though Sam was a little lost at first he was pretty sure he knew exactly where this was going the minute Dean leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled his jacket up off the floor, rifling around in the pockets. The minute he pulled out the bottle Sam's cock twitched, and a soft, hungry sound escaped his throat when Dean pushed it into his hand. "Seems like now would be a good time for this."

He didn't need to say any more. Really, he hadn't even needed to say that much, because _yeah_, Sam thought it was about time they did this, too. Dean spread his legs underneath him, his neck arching, every motion offering himself up and it was all Sam could do not to come right the fuck then just watching. He wrapped a hand around his own cock, holding it off as he leaned over to kiss him.

"You sure, Dean?" Because either way, he'd be fine. "I could-"

Dean shook his head, reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's neck, holding him close. "Maybe later. I want this. Want you."

That, right there…he was done. He couldn't even think anymore, and everything else came on instinct. He popped the bottle open, coated his fingers and slid the first one in. It was much _more_ of everything than he'd thought, hotter and tighter and so much more intimate, and when he found the right spot and Dean pressed into his hand and cried out, he knew he'd never be able to live without this again. Dean was open and vulnerable for him now in a way he'd never been before, and it was dizzying. He added another finger and Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, trying to pull him even closer. Dean was moaning, soft, desperate sounds that he couldn't seem to control and before he realized it Sam was talking to him, whispering against his skin.

"God, Dean, so perfect, you feel so good, I can't even…wanna be inside you, wanna feel you come for me."

"Jesus, _Sam_…" His voice was pure sex, fucked out and raw and Sam kissed him, needing to see how it felt to swallow the sound. When he thought he'd done enough he pulled his hand away, gripping Dean's hip with fingers that slipped a little at first. He maneuvered himself into position as best he could, hitching Dean's hips up a little. He didn't want to turn him over, didn't want to lose the ability to look into his eyes as he pushed into him.

He hesitated, the head of his cock brushing against slick muscle and the arm he rested on trembled just a little. "Ready?"

"Fuck, Sammy, just do it…do it."

Yeah, ok. He could do that. He pushed in slow even though it nearly killed him to do it, the tight heat maddening enough on its own even without the added knowledge that this was _Dean_. He reached between them to wrap his hand around Dean's length, and it tugged at his heart to feel the way he'd softened a little, the way his breath shortened with the pain.

He tucked his head in against Dean's neck, tasted salt when he pressed a soft kiss there. " 'M sorry. Didn't wanna hurt you."

Dean laughed, a short burst he could feel the vibration of from where their chests were pressed together. "It's alright. It's just this part that sucks a little the first few times, rest of it's gonna be worth it."

He knew that. He didn't just want to make this good for Dean, though, he wanted it be perfect, mind blowing, good enough to make up for never having done it before at all.

Dean pushed him out of his thoughts, his legs wrapping around Sam's waist and making sure he was seated all the way. "C'mon, Sammy. Move."

The first stroke was as slow as he could make it, a strangled 'God, Dean' slipping from his throat at the way Dean's body seemed to cling to him when he pulled out. It was a few strokes before he set up his rhythm, somewhere between as slow as he wanted to be and as desperate as he felt. Dean had one hand pressed against his back, the other buried deep in his hair, fingers tightening every time Sam pushed in. Dean's hips were rising to meet him now and they were moaning together, their lips barely brushing.

Dean's eyes were open, watching him, and it was the open trust and love he could see there that finally sent him over the edge. He kept stroking him, the movement of his hips stuttering, and Dean arched into him as he came, mouth open in a soundless cry.

When they could breathe and stand up without their legs giving out on them they made it to the shower, washing each other and mostly ending up leaned against the wall, kissing lazily under the spray. They took the other bed when they came out, finally able to slide into it naked together and not worry about falling asleep that way. They tangled together, Sam's head on Dean's chest, and even though sleep sounded pretty nice he couldn't manage to close his eyes quite yet.

Dean brushed the hair out of his eyes, his thumb catching at the corner of his eye and rubbing against his temple. "What is it, Sam?"

"Nothing, I just…" He gestured between them and Dean nodded, understanding.

"Yeah. Yeah, me too."

His first attempt to tell Jess he loved her hadn't gone quite like that, but it hadn't felt as right either. He kissed Dean's chest somewhere over his heart, laid his head down and closed his eyes.

He could definitely get used to this.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**2003**

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

A long time ago, they'd both learned to sleep with the lights still on. They'd learned to sleep under any and all circumstances, really, but that one had been an early one, because dad almost never went to bed at a decent hour. If he wasn't researching the case he was just researching in general, learning more about hunting, trying to learn more about what had taken Mary.

It was sometime around 4 in the morning when Sam woke up to see the light at the desk in the corner still on. They didn't have a new case yet, so he knew it wasn't _strictly_ work, and just from the set of his shoulders he could see just how tired dad was. Dean was still sleeping next to him so Sam slipped out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb him. He shifted a little but he kept sleeping, and Sam crossed over to the desk.

He had the laptop open, and though he closed the window quick when he felt Sam coming up behind him, it wasn't quick enough to keep Sam from seeing the word 'Azazel' on the page. It was like a shot of acid into his veins, burning hot and settling somewhere deep in his chest. They'd always wondered, later, how long dad had known and apparently, it had been quite awhile.

"Hey, Sammy." Dad was good at this, and maybe that was where Dean got it. If he hadn't known to listen for it, he wouldn't have known anything was wrong.

"Hey. You're still up."

"Yeah. Thought I had a lead but…" He shrugged, stretching back in the chair, his shoulders popping. "Well, you know how it goes."

Yeah, he did. He knew how _all_ of it went, and every time something like this happened to make him think about that fact, he wondered if maybe he shouldn't be saying more instead of waiting to deal with it when the time came. After everything they'd seen surely they'd believe him. But what could he say? 'By the way, the thing that killed mom _is_ Azazel and I have his blood and he's going to start making appearances in just a few years?' Somehow, that just didn't seem like a good way to do it. Besides, there was the matter of his deal and everything else he'd rather they didn't know, and it just seemed better to keep it to himself.

All the same, it hurt to see him searching, to see him finding all of this and wondering about it. Did he already know about the blood? Was he was already wondering what it'd be like to have to kill his own son? Sam swallowed hard, sat down on the edge of his dad's bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"It was after me, the thing that killed mom." He hadn't meant to say it, really, but maybe they _did_ need to talk about this, just a little.

He reacted instantly, dragging his chair around and leaning forward to face Sam, the worry clear in his eyes. "Sammy, no, of course not. I've told you before, this wasn't your fault, ok? You've gotta stop thinkin' that. What happened, it was never your fault."

Yeah. Yeah, it was. He bit his lip, looked down at his hands. Sometimes, he could still see blood on them. "What if it was? I mean, what if it was and we don't know why yet, we just-"

"_Sam_." Sam met his eyes, and right then he knew that dad knew a goddamn lot more than he was letting on, because if he hadn't, he wouldn't have looked that _hurt_, that wounded and worried. "You gotta trust me on this. It wasn't your fault, ok? Sometimes…sometimes things just happen to us and we have to deal with the aftermath. That doesn't mean we asked for it. Just means it happened to us."

_Like what's in my blood just 'happened' to me, is that what you mean?_

He dropped his gaze, nodding. There was nothing to say. Dad squeezed his shoulder, warm and reassuring.

"Go back to bed, ok? I'm just gonna look at this a little longer."

"You sure everything's ok?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Everything's fine." Sure didn't sound it, and Sam couldn't blame him. It had to suck finding out your son had demon blood in his veins. Not to mention how much it would suck to find out your son was going to end the world. He wasn't sure if dad had ever known that, but he desperately hoped he never would.

Dean woke up when he got back in bed, just a flutter of his eyelashes and a bleary look between cracked lids that showed he definitely wasn't really awake. Sam looked to make sure dad's eyes were back on the computer before he brushed a hand against Dean's cheek.

" S'ok. Just checkin' on dad."

Dean's eyes drifted closed again and he was out immediately. Sam stayed awake, lying on his back and watching dad for two hours through half open eyes. When he got to end of whatever intel he'd been reading he shut the computer, rubbed his hands over his face like he wished he could bleach his eyes.

Sam understood that, too. There were things he'd rather not know either.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Dean slammed the door loud enough that it probably could have been heard a couple rooms over, and Sam huffed, frustrated. He wasn't in the mood to fight over this. Everything hurt like hell and the wounds were stinging, burning in an unfamiliar way like there might've been something in those claws. His head was killing him, black spots hovering just on the sides of his eyes and he really _wasn't_ feeling up to listening to Dean raise hell over this.

"Dean, c'mon, it's not-"

"Sit your ass down." He said it hard and sharp, the words biting but still clearly shaken and Sam complied, hissing at the movement. The anger flickered out of Dean's eyes a little then and he stopped looking for the first aid kit and dropped to his knees in front of the bed, his hands sliding up Sam's thighs. "Where else did it get you? I couldn't really see-"

"My back, but it's ok, Dean, it's just a few claw marks, I-"

"C'mon, off. We're not talkin' about this right now."

Even angry as he was, Dean's touch was gentle as he peeled Sam's bloody shirt away, and when Sam sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled it all the way off his back Dean threaded the fingers of his other hand through his hair, soothing, and he could've sworn he heard a really soft 'I'm sorry' before Dean turned away to go back for the first aid kit. He could see half of the bathroom mirror from here, and if the other side of his neck and most of his back were as bloody as the left side of his neck looked, he could kind of understand why Dean was freaking out. Still, it wasn't like he'd done anything Dean or dad wouldn't have done. The black dog was going for the kid and he didn't have a gun anymore and Dean sure as hell didn't have a clear shot, so he'd put himself in the path rather than let it chew on the defenseless little 8 year old. Seemed reasonable to him.

Dean knelt between his legs, reaching up with a washcloth to dab at the slash just under his throat. His mouth was set in a grim line, his movements efficient as he cleared the blood away. It hurt like hell, but Sam wasn't about to say a damn thing. The minute Dean knew how much pain he was actually in, he was just gonna be more pissed off.

Dean worked his way up the gash, wiping over the widest part and Sam gripped the edge of the bed painfully tight.

"Jesus, Sam, what the _fuck_ were you _thinking_? You have any idea how close this is to your _throat_? You coulda been killed, you realize that, right?"

"Was kinda thinking more about the little girl, Dean."

"Yeah, well I wasn't! You have any idea what it was like, watching that thing tear you apart like that? I…_goddamit_, Sam…"

Actually, he had a far better idea of how it'd feel to see Dean ripped apart than he'd have liked. He could give Dean that, though. It was horrible. Beyond that, the worst moment of his life. He felt nauseous even remembering it, and his head was already fuzzy enough with the pain. He pitched forward a little and Dean caught him, hands dropping the washcloth to grab onto his shoulders.

"Sammy, you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just…little dizzy, that's all."

Dean stood up, leaned on one knee on the bed and held Sam steady against him as he got his first good look at his back. He could tell by the way Dean gripped on tighter just how bad it must've looked.

"Alright. C'mon."

"Where? This seriously hurts, Dean, I just wanna-"

"I know, I know, and it's gonna be ok, just…we gotta take you to the hospital."

God, he hated hospitals. "I'm ok. You can do it, I don't wanna-"

"Well tough, cause this is a little more than I can patch up, Sammy, ok?" He slid his arm under Sam's better shoulder, the side where his back and collar didn't feel quite so mutilated. He leaned into Dean, hard, and even so it seemed like the floor was fuzzing out. It didn't make any sense, really, he'd been pretty much alright in the car and sort of alright coming in, but now he just felt so goddamn weak and tired and…

"Give me your jacket."

"You cold?" Of course Dean was already leaning him up against the door outside and going through the motions, sliding it off his shoulders and around Sam's before helping him the rest of the way to the car.

"Not really. But I'm guessing taking the shirt off got everything I can't see bleeding all over the place, and you'll never forgive me if I get too much blood in the car."

"Hilarious. Here, easy, I know this sucked gettin' out of the car."

Getting back in was even less fun, but he was feeling more hazy every second, so it was manageable. Dean shut the door carefully and he slumped back against it, the pain in his back shooting sharp and demanding through his nerves.

Dean was in and had the Impala going in record time, nearly skidding out of the parking lot. Sam could hear the wind rushing by outside the door, and his head pounded just a little harder. The edges of his wounds felt like they on fire, burning pain that only seemed to be increasing. He shut his eyes and heard himself whimper, felt the car jerk and Dean's hand press cool against his forehead.

"_Shit_. Sammy? You with me?"

"Would you drive? Gonna get us killed." It came out less mumbled in his head.

"Yeah, thanks for the tip smartass." Even trying, Dean couldn't quite manage to sound anything other than worried just then. "How're you feelin', Sam? C'mon, tell me everything here. We've never dealt with one _exactly_ like that, I don't know if it's poisoned or cursed or-"

"Think it's poisoned. Fucking hurts."

"Ok. Ok, it's ok. It's…we're ok. I'm gonna get you there so they can stop the bleedin', then I'm gonna go back and find out what I need to give you, ok? You're gonna be fine; I got this."

He tried to answer, really, but his head was spinning, darkening, and he just closed his eyes instead.

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	4. Chapter 4

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The first thing he realized was that Dean was holding his hand. He had Sam's right hand tight between both of his own, his lips brushing his knuckles as he talked to him.

"C'mon, Sammy, you gotta wake up. You're scarin' the hell outta me, man, I don't…I don't know what to do. I called dad but I don't know when he'll get here and…_Sam_." Dean's fingers flexed on his hand, holding on just a little bit more desperately. "You can't leave me. Not now, you understand? I wouldn't make it, I can't. Sammy, I-"

" 'm here." He'd been trying to unglue his throat for most of that, and once he finally managed it burned like someone had shoved sandpaper down his throat and followed it up with acid.

Dean's response was more than worth it, though. The noise he made was just a little broken, but he wrapped his arm around Sam's waist and buried his face against his good shoulder, holding him close. Much as it hurt to move he got his other hand up to rest behind Dean's head, curving down to brush against his cheek. He could feel tears on the tips of his fingers, and he wished his body would respond just a little less sluggishly so he could pull Dean up and hold onto him properly.

"Jesus, Sam, I thought…"

"I'm ok. It's ok." Dean pulled back enough to cup a hand against his cheek, kissing his forehead. His own eyes stung at that and he shut them, tilting his head back a little farther into the pillow. "Can we get out of here yet?"

"God, I wish. I got some sage on those cuts pretty soon after they finished messin' with you the first time, but they need more and I can't do it here. I've got some tea made up for you, though. It's probably cold by now but you're gonna have to drink it anyway."

All of that had to have taken awhile, at _least_. "How long was I out?"

"Day and a half. I was climbing the walls."

"Felt like five minutes. We were in the car and then everything dimmed out and then I heard you talkin' to me." He forced his eyes open, watching Dean, the way he was pouring the tea quick and efficient, his eyes on his work. "You ok?"

Dean froze, laughing low and a little dangerous. "Am _I_ ok?" On second thought, that might not have been the best question to ask. Dean managed to set the cup down somewhat carefully before he turned on him, clearly furious. "You nearly _died_, Sam, and you wanna ask me if I'm 'ok'? _Seriously_?"

"Dean, c'mon, I didn't nearly-"

"Yes you did! You passed out in the car, and I got you in here and I don't know if it had something to do with the black dog or if the cuts themselves would've been enough but you were losing blood like crazy and they wouldn't even let me come back here with you at first and…" He was running out of steam, and when he gestured weakly at the door Sam could see the bandage on his own arm, right on the inside of his elbow.

"You gave blood for me."

Dean must've still been talking, because he seemed a little surprised that Sam had interrupted. He reached to the inside of his arm, ripping the cotton and tape off and rubbing absently at the mark like he'd forgotten it was there. "Yeah. 'Bout the only thing I could do there for awhile."

For about half a second he had the stupid thought that Dean's blood should be able to cancel out his, that whether by right of being Michael's true vessel or just because Dean was his brother that should be enough to wipe him clean, to wash out everything that never should have been there at all. Of course, things like that only happened in fairy tales, which was probably why so many people wrote them. The real lore they were based on, that _always_ sucked.

God, his head still hurt. He closed his eyes again, shutting out the light. "I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. I'm not gonna be sorry I did my damn job." Nothing, and he cracked his eyes back open. "Dean?"

"Here." Dean picked his hand up, wrapping it around the mug. "Drink this."

The distance in his voice hurt, and Sam caught his wrist with his other hand, trying to hold onto him. "Dean, I'm-"

"Just drink it, Sam. You need some more rest."

He wanted to argue a hell of a lot more, to talk about it until he was sure everything between them was ok but his head was pounding and fuzzing out again and he knew he wasn't gonna last long enough to get to the bottom of it right now. He drank the tea, grimacing at the cold and the overpowering taste of sage. It felt clean in his throat, though, and almost the minute he put the mug down he was back asleep.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The next time, he woke up to the sound of arguing. They were out in the hall and arguing in whispers, but it was plain dad was tearing Dean a new one and Dean was doing little more than agree with him about how much he'd failed.

His anger flared and he sat up, ready to start working on pulling the IV out of his arm. Dean had been listening, though, and once he started moving around Dean cut dad off, darting in the door. He looked pale and like he'd seriously been dragged over the rocks for this one, but he smiled when he saw Sam sitting up.

"Hey, Sammy. How're you feelin', dude?" Damn, he sounded so tired.

"I'm fine. Dad, this wasn't Dean's fault. He had my back, the thing just came outta nowhere and I jumped in to keep it from taking the girl. It was just…" He shrugged, tried not to show how much the movement hurt. "Just one of those things, you know? I'm fine."

"Yeah, well you look like hell." He was clearly still pissed, sure, but the relief was obvious too. He stepped around Dean to clap a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Good to see you awake."

"Dad, I'm ok, really."

"Look, I don't really want to talk about it here. You could've gotten yourself killed, and if you two can't handle a hunt that isn't straightforward on your own-"

That chafed him a little more than he meant to let it, and his voice rose. "We aren't kids anymore, dad, we can hunt on our own, everybody gets hurt sometimes and-"

"We're not talking about it here, Sam!"

"Oh but you can light into Dean about it here, huh? That's ok?"

Dean's hand shot out then, catching his other shoulder and pulled him back, forcing him back against the pillows. "_Sam_, cut it out, ok?" His eyes flickered over across the bed, half downcast. "We're sorry. Got careless, I guess, I don't-"

"No we didn't! It could've happened to _anyone_, Dean, and you know it!"

"Be that as it may, I'm your father. And until I think you can handle any situation where I'm not already _sure_ of what you're going into, we're gonna be sticking together. Do you understand?"

There were about a dozen comebacks he was sifting through for that, but Dean squeezed his arm and murmured 'yes sir' into the silence, and when dad got tired of waiting for Sam to say it too he headed out the door, muttering something Sam didn't quite catch about getting them some food.

Sam sighed in frustration, raked the hand that wasn't attached to the IV line through his hair. "Sometimes, he makes it _really_ easy to remember why he drove me so fucking crazy." Of course, it was only after he said it that he realized now probably wasn't the time to bring up the one time he'd almost left and punched a hole through his brother's chest. Dean already looked sick enough, and now, he wasn't saying anything. "C'mon, man, are you not talkin' to me now? Look, I know you hate it when we fight like that but I couldn't just let him-"

"It's not that. Really it's not. I just…" When he looked up, there was something wild and helpless in his eyes and Sam could feel it down to his bones. "I didn't know what it'd feel like, now, and…I wasn't just scared, Sam, I was…"

Desperate? Insane with it? Yeah. He knew.

Dean wasn't all the way ready to talk about it, though, and he leaned over the bed, claiming Sam's lips in a fiercely possessive kiss. He returned it, his hand settling around the back of Dean's neck, and when they pulled apart Dean stayed closed, foreheads almost touching.

"Don't you ever do that to me again." He tried to make it commanding but his voice wavered, and Sam squeezed the back of his neck.

"I won't. I promise."

He seriously, _desperately_ had to be sure his deal never came due. Because the way things were _now_…if he fucked this up, he would've been better off staying where it was to begin with. It was one thing to break Dean as his little brother, and another entirely to do it as _this_, as everything. No matter what it took, he couldn't let that happen.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The heat of the metal against his back was soothing, scorching hot but so familiar, and he closed his eyes as he turned his face up into the sun. It'd been too long since they'd had time together like this. On the road with dad all the time without any breaks in between was maddening, because the most they could ever hope for these days was an hour or two alone or something quick in the backseat of the car. All that considered, when Dean had pulled off to the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere on the way back from questioning a source that was a couple hours out from town he'd expected some quick jerking each other off, maybe some cramped actual sex in the back seat.

When he'd just stretched back on the hood and said they deserved a break, even though it wasn't what he'd had in mind Sam couldn't have agreed more. They'd both been tossed around by that spirit last night, and digging after that was gonna be a bitch. His muscles ached and Dean had an impressive bruise over his ribs and they could use some time to just soak in a little bit of the steady summer sun.

It was nice, just taking some time to not do anything at all. For the most part they'd had to give this up too, at least, to give up _this_ kind of doing nothing, laying too close together on the hood and drifting somewhere on the edge of sleep. He could feel Dean beside him even in the spaces they didn't touch and it was perfect, the way Dean's arm just brushed his, moving minutely with every rise and fall of his chest. Before, times like this had always driven him crazy, so close and unable to close the distance between them because it was _wrong_ and Dean would never want it. Now, he knew if he turned over and kissed him Dean would welcome it, face tilting into Sam's hands, his lips warm and soft and eager.

Just thinking about it was distracting, and he opened his eyes, rolled his head to the side to look over at his brother. Dean's position mirrored his own, arms crossed back behind his head, and he was studying the clouds above the power lines, eyes half closed. Sam rolled over onto one arm, slid his hand over to rub lazily over Dean's threadbare t-shirt. His fingers traced across his abs, and he could feel the muscles clench just a little at his touch.

"What're you thinkin'?"

Dean cleared his throat, his head tilting back a little father. "Who says I'm thinkin' anything? It's just nice out here."

"It is, but you are. I can tell." He could always tell. He put a little more pressure into his touch and Dean squirmed a little, shifting on the hood.

"Quit that." It was muttered low under his breath, no real warning in the words. Sam's eyes flickered down to see that he'd already gone half hard just at Sam's touch and that…_fuck_, that was always amazing. To think that _he_ could do that to Dean with just a touch, just a brush his fingers with a thin layer of cotton between them. He stilled his hand, shuffled a little closer and rested his chin on Dean's chest, and though Dean rolled his eyes he unfolded one arm from behind his head and let it rest against Sam's back, keeping him there.

"Then answer the question. What're you thinking?"

Dean shrugged, his fingers tracing up and down Sam's spine. "Just that lookin' at it now, seems like I was kind of an idiot when we were younger. I didn't know it then, though, don't know how I could have but there must've been something I missed."

There'd been things they'd both missed, definitely, but it made sense. This was huge, this thing between them, and at that age it had been even more daunting. Something they shouldn't want, something that seemed unapproachable and impossible. Dean couldn't really have expected himself to know any better.

"I dunno, man, I was just thinking about the last time we were here."

Sam's brow furrowed, thinking hard. "I didn't think we'd ever been to Boise. Or…wherever this is."

"No, not _here_ exactly, just…Idaho. Aberdeen. You remember?"

Now that he mentioned it, yeah he did. It had been this podunk high school, and he'd bitched about it more than once though they hadn't stayed there but 3 weeks. It was 1998, he was 15 and it had been his first time going to school entirely without Dean since he'd graduated the previous May. It sucked.

"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"You were datin' that girl, don't you remember that?"

Now that he mentioned it, yeah. "Karen something, yeah."

"Karen Adams." His voice sounded tight when he said it, like he'd never be able to forget her name even if he tried. "I remember you coming home from one of those last dates with her and I was so mad at myself because I was supposed be congratulating you, that's what big brother's are supposed to do, but…" He laughed, his hand pressing just a little tighter against Sam's back. "God, I was jealous; I was furious. Up until then I'd never been that jealous of anyone and I kind of hated myself for it, you know, but I couldn't help it either. I was so glad to get the hell outta here."

It took him a second to even remember what Dean had had to congratulate him _for_, but it came back to him pretty quick. Whether the _person_ stuck in your mind or not, your first blow job was something it was kind of hard to forget. It had been at her house, in her room in the basement. She had a couch in there across from her TV, and she'd knelt on the carpet when she did it, her hands sliding up his thighs. He'd come pretty much the instant she got her mouth around him, and he could still remember the first shock of the sensation of searing wet heat on his cock. At the time, it'd been great, yeah, and he'd come home and told Dean about it because especially at that age, they shared all the details just like they shared everything else. He couldn't remember Dean being anything but proud he was 'growing up', and they'd had a beer. If he could see it all again now, he was pretty sure he'd be able to pick out the jealousy in Dean's eyes. He'd learned to recognize it.

Sam smiled, his hand rubbing slow over Dean's abs again. "Don't worry. She wasn't that great."

"I coulda done better." He barely muttered it under his breath and Sam chuckled. Obviously, Dean could've done _much_ better, and he'd have welcomed it. Even at that age, he'd already wanted Dean so bad it was nearly driving him crazy. He'd gotten himself off more times than he could count thinking of Dean's mouth and his hands and everything else, and he'd have given anything if Dean would've made the first move. Still, it wasn't anything to worry about now. All ancient history, from where they were looking at it.

"Dean, it wouldn't have mattered. I was 15, quality was kind of irrelevant." After he said it, he realized that wasn't exactly what he meant. "I mean, it would've _mattered_, I'd rather you have-"

Dean groaned, his head slipping off his arm and knocking back against the car, and he shoved at Sam without really trying to push him away. "Jesus, don't tell me that."

Sam slipped his hand under Dean's shirt, fingertips dragging slow across bare skin. "You can make it up to me now, if you want." His cock twitched at the thought, hardening in the confines of his jeans.

Dean's hand pulled his shirt up, just enough to let get his hand on skin. "Just hate thinkin' of everything someone else got that I coulda had if I hadn't been so sure you'd turn me down." He got a good grip on Sam with both hands and hauled him closer, letting Sam rest half on top of him, thigh pressing against Dean's now insistent hard on. "Woulda killed to see you lose control like that, Sammy. For _me_." His voice was low, thick with arousal, the words breathed against Sam's ear and he groaned, hips jerking forward to rub against Dean. He brought his hand up to rake through Dean's hair, and he kissed him, mouth slack to let Dean take as much as he wanted. His kiss was hungry, tongue thrusting just a little rough into his mouth and Sam pressed closer, his hand sliding down to press against the Impala and give him a little more leverage.

"Make me lose control all the time, don't you know that?" Only every time they were together. Living the life they did he'd had plenty of sex in his time even if he wasn't anywhere near as prolific at that as Dean was, and _none_ of it had ever made him as crazy as he was with Dean.

"Not the same." Dean's hands pushed his shirt up all the way, hands sliding up over his ribs to come up high enough for his thumbs to rub over Sam's nipples, and Sam gasped and bit down on Dean's lip.

"Like I said…" Damn, he was already out of breath. "Gonna talk about it or are you gonna make it up to me?" He knew what Dean was talking about, really he did. Just he like he knew that was as close as Dean would ever come to outright saying he seriously regretted that they weren't each other's first. It was something he'd already thought himself more than once. He had his own share of memories that still nagged him, among them the thought of how it would've been to have Dean back when he was still young enough to be unsure, inexperienced enough to _really_ come undone under Sam's hands.

"Shut up." Dean pushed on his shoulders, wanting him on his back and Sam went willingly, though he was surprised when Dean rolled over with him, nearly on top of him.

"Thought you were gonna-"

"_Shut up_."

Dean kissed him again, hard and demanding, and he moaned when Dean fucked his mouth with his tongue, Dean's right hand splaying against his abdomen underneath the shirt that had fallen back down as he'd turned over. He slid his hand lower and worked Sam's jeans open without breaking the kiss, but he only touched his cock as much as was needed to free him before he pulled his hand away, fingertips rubbing circles over his belly. He grinned against Sam's lips when Sam whined, hips hitching upward.

"Impatient. Just wait. Gonna be good, I promise."

Yes, because _that_ was something he doubted all the time. Later, he'd have to remember to say something about that.

Dean tangled his fingers in Sam's hair, tugged his head back to expose his neck. The first kisses along his jaw were soft and almost chaste, and when he suddenly sank his teeth into the soft skin of Sam's throat Sam keened and arched up off the hood, grasping at Dean hard to pull him closer.

Dean chuckled against his skin. "God, you're such a freak." He nuzzled against his jaw as he said it, all tenderness. It was that way so often with Dean. The people that didn't know him, they judged him on his words, on the easy smirk and the walls he'd built so well, but Sam knew better. The words, they were half shield half amusement. What he _felt_, that was all laid out in the way he rubbed their cheeks together, the way he hummed in pleasure low in his chest when Sam bit his neck in return, the raw sound to the soft 'Sammy' he whispered, breath hot against Sam's ear.

Sam turned his head, nipped a little at a spot just below Dean's ear before biting down hard again, sucking the salt taste of sweat off his skin. Dean loved it almost as much as he enjoyed doing it, he knew, though he always teased Sam about having some kind of crazy vampire fetish anyway. Honestly, it had nothing to do with vampires and everything to do with the way it felt to mark Dean, to feel the soft skin under his teeth and taste him on his tongue, to see _his_ marks coloring Dean's skin later when he was stripping for the shower or dressing for a hunt. Or, like this one, where it was high enough for everyone to see, a sign that he belonged to the one that had put it there. Primal and instinctive and animalistic, maybe, but not so much vampiric.

Dean turned his head and claimed Sam's lips in a kiss again, this one hot and messy, slick, their lips not quite lining up right though it felt good enough that it didn't matter. Dean's hand was slipping low again, teasing, rubbing over his chest with just the right pressure to feel good but always stopping just short of reaching his cock.

When he pulled away Sam moaned, hips thrusting up against the air, and Dean just grinned.

"Don't get too excited." He dipped his head, sucking at Sam's nipple over the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He could feel the wet heat of Dean's tongue, the pressure of his teeth when he bit down but it was all subdued, not the same as on skin and he reached down to the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it off. Dean pushed his hand away, breaking his grip and he licked over the fabric, a steady swipe of his tongue with his eyes flicking up to lock with Sam's. It was obscene and not enough and he could feel his cock jerking, leaking steadily against his abdomen.

He switched, leaned farther over and gave the other nipple the same treatment, and when he leaned up to admire his handiwork his eyes were dark with lust. "Like that, Sammy?"

He didn't answer, just pulled Dean down for a kiss. He started off practically devouring his lips but Dean slowed it down until their tongues tangled together at something like a decent pace, slow enough for the feel of Dean's tongue sliding against his to be absolutely dizzying. He couldn't breathe, and when he pulled back just far enough to, he couldn't take his eyes away from Dean's lips. They were slick and swollen, already looking used and sexy as hell and he moaned, his thumb brushing across Dean's full lower lip.

"God, Dean, your mouth."

He caught Sam's wrist, turned it over and sucked his fingers down, tongue running against the tender underside like he was already working Sam's cock and Sam closed his eyes and let him. His cock swelled just a little more, arching up fully against his belly. Dean still hadn't touched him, but when his roving fingers slipped far enough to brush against the thin sheen of moisture already leaked against his skin, Dean stopped, rubbing the pads of his fingers over it.

He let Sam's fingers drop from his mouth, and without even looking Sam knew he was replacing them with his own. He couldn't help but open his eyes and look, and the sharp spike of heat that stabbed into him as he watched Dean suckle at his own fingers was nearly painful. He _needed_, enough that he was willing to beg for it.

"Dean, _please_."

Dean's smile was positively wicked. He trailed his fingers across Sam's skin again, brought them sticky up to Sam's lips, brushing lightly. "Here. Taste." He sucked eagerly, and when he moaned around his mouthful he couldn't help but feel a little pride at the way Dean gasped, suddenly thrusting sharp and uncontrolled against Sam's hip.

Dean looked down at him then, eyes hooded, and Sam followed his gaze. He was rock hard and flushed red, and the look Dean was giving him was nothing less than predatory. Dean licked his lips and Sam's cock twitched, a low buzz of pleasure diffusing through his skin at the incredulous 'fuck, Sam' that left Dean's lips.

Dean slid off the hood then, finally, and when he gripped Sam's calves and pulled him down to put him at just the right level, Sam felt like he was already losing his mind. His shirt had ridden up as Dean dragged him down and the metal was firebrand hot against his bare back, but he hardly cared. Dean's hands rested on his thighs, and he could feel unsteady warm breath right at the vee of his legs.

"Look at me, Sammy."

Oh God. He could do that, yeah, there was a chance he'd come _just_ doing that and that just…that wouldn't work. Still, he did, raising up on slightly shaky elbows to watch as Dean leaned forward. His fingers curled through Sam's belt loops on either side, holding on tight, his arms pinning his hips down by the weight pressing down across his thighs. Dean's eyes were locked with his, a brilliant emerald green, and when Dean's mouth stretched over him neither of them looked away. He took him deep and slow, swallowing against the motion. His tongue pressed flat against the underside and he moaned. Neither one of them had broken the connection, and with so much of his attention still centered on Dean's eyes he didn't even realize he'd mirrored the sound until he could feel the vibration of it in his chest. Dean breathed out through his nose, the burst of air skimming close to the base of his cock, and when Dean swallowed around him again his hips tried to jerk up only to be held down as Dean's head started to bob over his length. It only took seconds before Sam couldn't hold back anymore, and he cried out as he came, shooting hot down Dean's throat.

Dean swallowed what he could and only lost a little, and he cleaned up with swipes of his tongue, Sam whimpering at the little licks against sensitive skin. Sam lay back all the way, feeling limp and hazy and just a little drugged out. Dean tucked him back into his jeans and Sam gathered enough energy to almost lift one arm off the hood, fingers twitching in beckoning.

"Dean. C'mere."

Dean was panting, and he heard the soft hitch in his breath just before he cracked his eyes open in time to see Dean turning his head to rub his cheek against the inside of Sam's thigh. He had one hand clenched tight in the fabric of Sam's jeans, the other out of sight, and even though Sam couldn't see below the edge of the hood he knew the second Dean came from the way his jaw went slack, a low moan rising from his throat.

He groaned, his own spent cock trying valiantly to stir at the sound. Somehow he found the energy to sit up, his hand curling around the back of Dean's neck. "_Christ_, Dean, c'mere." The thought of Dean jerking off when he was _right here_ was always maddening, and even though he'd already come Sam pulled him in and kissed him hard, mimicking the way Dean had fucked Sam's mouth with his tongue earlier. He could taste himself there, and he licked at the inside of his mouth until he could just taste Dean again.

Dean's breath still shook when they broke apart. The sun was baking down on them now, Sam could feel it on the fingers wrapped around the back of Dean's neck. Just like always Dean's hair looked a little more blonde in the light. When he looked up at Sam the lust in his eyes had burnt itself out, but it had always been _this_ look he liked best anyway, pure love and devotion and just a little bit of maddening awe, like Dean _still_ couldn't believe his own eyes. His lips were still swollen, and the knowledge that _he'd_ done that with his kisses and the way Dean's mouth had stretched around him was heady and intoxicating.

He cupped Dean's face in his hands, thumbs brushing gently just under his eyes. "You have any idea how unbelievable you look right now?"

He could see the tinge of red rising in his cheeks, reminding Sam that Dean's moments of vulnerability never lasted long, and he usually felt like he never should've let himself have them at all. Sam clung to it, kissing Dean's forehead, and his heart jolted in his chest when Dean reached up and held him there a moment, hand squeezing lightly at the nape of Sam's neck.

Part of him wanted to _say_ something, if nothing important then to at least tell Dean he'd pretty much just blown his mind, or even to crack a joke, to ask Dean if he could manage to forget her name now, but the silence between them couldn't be interrupted.

Dean's hand trailed away, searching, stilling when their fingers tangled together, Dean's ring digging into his skin when Dean held on too tight. Nothing else needed to be said.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was Bobby that finally convinced dad to lighten up a few months after the black dog incident. Really, he didn't so much convince him as just yell at him over the phone that there were people dying in Pittsburgh, and that if he couldn't leave the witch hunt he was on and Bobby couldn't leave the demon hunt _he_ was on, then it only made sense to send the other two hunters dad had at his disposal to go take care of it.

Granted, Bobby absolutely could've called the Roadhouse and given the case to someone else, so Sam was all the more grateful that he didn't. He certainly didn't know everything, thank God, but he knew enough to know that while Sam didn't want to leave, sometimes he did just have the urge to get out. Ever since he could remember he'd been able to count on Bobby for things like that. They'd spent more than their fair share of time there as kids and Bobby'd always been as accommodating as he could be, letting Sam sift through his books for both for school projects and hunting and his own personal reading. Dean always made fun of him for tucking a few into his bag to borrow when they left, but Bobby'd always made it a point to mention how smart and well read he was gonna be. At that age, feeling like he miserably didn't fit it, it'd been nice to hear.

Finally branching back out on their own a little to hunt the spirit of a murdered freed slave definitely showed dad was getting over it(if slowly) and giving them some leeway, but Sam had already come to realize a couple months back that the one with the real problem with what had happened was Dean.

He'd been right to tell Dean that it hadn't been a big deal, nothing more than could've happened to either of them any day of their lives, nothing more than what _had_ happened to Dean before with the rawhead, only that had been worse. All the same, Dean hadn't exactly let it go. For weeks Sam could feels his eyes on the marks every time he stripped his shirt off in Dean's presence, and when it started to scar over the tips of Dean's fingers would trace over it as they kissed, mapping the raised skin, pressing into it. He wasn't sure if Dean was memorizing the shape to remind himself or if he was wishing he could take it away, but whatever it was the way Dean kept the memory hovering right there at the back of his mind wasn't healthy.

He'd known that for ages but he hadn't known how or even _if_ he should bring it up, but the hunt in Pittsburgh just made it that much more clear. The spirit had thrown a desk, and while he'd probably have gotten a pretty well bruised thigh out of it, Dean pushed him out of the way and got himself knocked at a bad angle against the wall. A protruding nail near the baseboard caught his shoulder and ripped a cut about 3 inches long, and even though it was still minor enough for Sam to stitch up, that wasn't the point. It was reckless and stupid and it scared the hell out of him, because in planning to take care of Dean he'd kind of been avoiding thinking about just how desperately Dean took care of _him_. it was Dean's default setting, always, and if he kept throwing himself under the wagon for Sam _now_, what the hell was he gonna do if he ever found out about the deal?

Deep down he knew this was something he should've been ready to deal with from the beginning, but knowing and actually being prepared with something like an idea of how to handle it were two vastly different things.

Just then, with Sam stitching him up, Dean looked more at relaxed than he had in ages. It just wasn't right.

"Hey, Dean-"

"You know, I think I know somewhere we can find out about this guy a little more. That old lady said her grandmother had kept the records of the house, maybe we can ask her to check around in her grandmother's things, see if she _still_ kept 'em stashed away somewhere."

"Yeah. Ok." He took a deep breath, scooted in a little closer as he held Dean's skin together for the suture. "Dean, that was really stupid, back there."

"What?" By the way he'd gone tense under Sam's hands, he obviously already knew the answer.

"You. Pushing me out of the way like that." The frustration came out in his voice and he huffed, reaching up with one hand to push his bangs out of his eyes so he could keep working. "I wouldn't have been hurt, not really and _this_ is much worse. It was ridiculous and stupid and-"

"Sam, we're not talkin' about this. There's not even anything to talk about." When Sam looked up to catch a glimpse of his face, he honestly didn't even look riled. He was smiling, just a little, and Sam knew that no matter what he said it wouldn't get _anywhere_. That was Dean's 'I know I did the right thing' face, and there was no competing with it. "You're my brother, I see somethin' that's gonna hurt you, I do something about it. That's just all there is to it."

He reached back, his left hand coming to rest on Sam's thigh, thumb rubbing over the beginnings of a hole in the denim. "C'mon, finish me up. I wanna go to dinner, think I want lasagna."

Sam shook his head, teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw ache as he finished the stitches.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was kind of funny how instinctively they'd adjusted, really. Somehow when dad was with them they managed to sleep more or less the same way they always had, side by side and without too much to give them away. Sometimes he'd wake up with his head nuzzled into Dean's shoulder a little or Dean's arm almost over him under the covers, but that was as close as it came.

When they were alone though…that was a whole other story. He'd thought he'd craved being close to Dean before but once all of _this_ had started he'd realized he'd had no idea. Even unconscious he got as close to him as he could, sprawling over his chest or spooning around him, Dean never seeming to mind being wrapped up in his long arms.

Even times like now, when the air conditioner in their Charleston motel was broken in the dead of summer and they felt just a little like they were burning alive. They'd fooled around in the shower, Dean sucking him off before he pulled Dean to his feet and finished off what he'd already started. Through a couple of murmured pleas he was sure Dean couldn't ever remember making he'd learned awhile back that Dean seriously had a thing for his hands and he used that knowledge all the time, loving the way Dean melted under his touch.

In any case it had led to them falling still damp into bed, not even a sheet over them in the heat. He was laying across Dean's chest, half asleep with their legs tangled together, and he felt Dean's chest rise when he sighed.

"You realize it's way too hot for this shit, right? You're like a fuckin' heater, man."

He blinked, dragged his mind a little out of its sleepy haze. "Sorry. I can-"

"Don't be stupid; I'm just sayin'." Dean's arms tightened around him, holding him closer. He could feel the sheen of sweat between their chests, hot and slick and pretty much negating the fact that they'd even bothered to shower at all.

Outside someone ran giggling down the hall, footsteps echoing. There were so many people on vacation here it was ridiculous, and that was something that had been complicating their hunt for the past few days. They'd already been in the city nearly a week and they were having a damn hard time getting information on just which spirit had gone violent at the jail because they could hardly get five minutes in there alone with the damn ghost tours goin' through the place. Not to mention the fact that there were hundreds of options.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hm?"

"We should go to the beach when we're done here." Their whole lives, they'd never had a real vacation. Just because he'd decided he didn't want 'normal' didn't mean he didn't think it'd be nice to take a few pieces of it for themselves.

"Sam, it's August in South Carolina. It's hotter than hell. Not to mention, even the dumps at the beach aren't cheap."

"So we'll hustle a couple extra rounds of pool." He turned his head, nuzzled into Dean's neck and sucked at his pulse, tasting sweat and just a faint lingering hint of soap. "It'll be fun."

Dean's hands rubbed over his back, slow and easy. "Yeah, alright. If we can wrap this thing up in the next couple days we can take a long weekend, head out to meet dad on Thursday."

A few days was enough. He had this sort of informal list in his head, a whole host of things he knew Dean wanted that he was going to try to give him this time around. There were things like the Grand Canyon and Christmas and Vegas, and the beach was one of them, something Dean had mentioned offhand after a case in Santa Monica.

It ended up being Saturday before they could leave and they stopped in Battery Park on the way out. Dad's old camera was stashed back in the trunk under the sawed offs and Sam had bought some film when they finished up the night before. It's sunset when they're there, and the first picture he gets is so perfect he doesn't really feel the need to take any more just then. Dean's leaning against the railing, smiling and watching the sun go down red over the Atlantic. His hair looks just a little blonder, the freckles against the back of his neck already seeming to stand out just a little more from the sun he's gotten walking around Charleston the past few days.

He looks so purely _happy_, and Sam can't help but feel a little pride that so far, all things considered he's doing pretty damn good.

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	5. Chapter 5

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"So, Bobby…think we can have Christmas this year?" At first, Bobby looked at him like he had three heads, but that was pretty much what he'd expected. He held his hands up, wanting Bobby to hear him out. "Look, I know we've never exactly done the whole Hallmark thing but we're family and I think it'd be great, you know?" Contrary to what Dean seems to think, he can't just turn the puppy eyes on and off. It just _happens_ sometimes, but right now, he's trying his hardest to get his brain to flip the switch and make it happen, because anything that's gonna help him give Dean a great Christmas would be convenient right now.

"Sam, I…I got nothin' against Christmas, but I haven't exactly participated for a long time now." Since Karen died, obviously. He doesn't come right out and say it but of course he wouldn't because to him Sam doesn't know, and it's hard not to say something about it just then.

"I know, but we should just try it. Get a Christmas tree that didn't come from the dollar store and maybe cook an actual turkey since you do have a kitchen somewhere in here."

He sighed, leaned back against the counter and scratched at the edge of his beard. "Me and John'll kill each other, Sam, you know that. I mean, I love him, but if we're stuck in this house more than a few days together then-"

"So we'll come in on like the day before Christmas Eve or something. Look it doesn't have to be some big drawn out thing; I'm just thinking it'd be nice." And that whatever they come up with, it'll be a whole hell of a lot better than car fresheners hanging on the tree and eggnog in plastic cups.

Bobby shook his head, but Sam could tell he'd already won. "Alright. But you and your brother aren't cooking. I like my kitchen just like it is and if you two stooges get in there tryin' to make a turkey it won't stay that way."

When he was little he thought Dean cooked for him all the time, but warming up a can of ravioli doesn't really count as cooking, probably. Considering the only time they _had_ tried to cook a full meal it had ended in extremely blackened chicken and a smoke alarm going off, Bobby's probably right.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Here."

They had just finished unpacking at Bobby's, and downstairs he and dad were talking over a couple glasses of eggnog that was mostly bourbon. As far as Christmas Eve's went, it was the most traditional one they'd ever had. The tree was a little sparse but it was pretty damn alright for buying it last minute, and Bobby'd even let them dig the ornaments down out of the attic, which Sam had been able to see as the real sacrifice it was because he know how it had to hurt like hell.

Dean was sitting on the edge of their bed in the guest room, one hand held out with something wrapped in newspaper.

"Aren't we supposed to do that tomorrow?"

"Yeah, well, maybe I wanna give it to you now." He wasn't looking at it, and that was enough to tell Sam whatever was inside was something important.

"Alright. Well hold just a sec, let me-"

"Nah, go ahead and open it now. You can get it in a minute." He held the thin package just a little more in Sam's direction and he took it, sitting down slow on the edge of the bed and turning it over to find the edge of the newspaper. "It's not exactly a present, really, kind of more of an idea but I thought you'd…"

It was information, a few pages of it, all about summer classes at Stanford. Dean kept talking, and the more he did the more hopeful he sounded. "See, I was lookin' into it, and this summer thing they do is only like 8 weeks so I think we could swing it, and I mean it's not like actually getting accepted to Stanford, it's a hell of a lot easier, so if you wanted I could-"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'd want you to do it with me." He _doesn't_ need this anymore, not in the slightest, and in fact it'd be hard more than anything else, because they just might see Jess there and even though he doesn't _want_ her now he still cares about her and it'd suck even more to see her and know they can't at least be friends. But _this_ Dean, he still sees this as an opportunity Sam missed, and he's clearly never gonna believe Sam's over wanting it. 8 weeks isn't so bad, and maybe once Dean's there with him, he'll see that school doesn't hold his attention like it used to. Besides, if Dean _really_ wanted him to try this…well, Dean's sacrificed enough for him. In comparison going back somewhere he swore he wouldn't shouldn't be so hard. "If we can work it around hunting and we can do it together, then that's…that'll be great, but Dean I don't need it, you know that right? I don't need this. I'm happy; I promise."

Dean shrugged, his eyes on his hands. "You're smart, a hell of a lot smarter than me and even if I didn't want you to go I just kinda wonder sometimes if…" He shook his head. "I just don't want to keep you from anything, Sam. Not if it'd be better if you-"

"Hey." He pulled Dean's face into his hands, leaned down and kissed him until Dean was really responding to him, one hand digging into the back of Sam's neck and the other resting against his waist. Even after that the uncertainty didn't leave his eyes, and just then he was angry at everyone from Azazel to dad to himself for ever making Dean think all he ever was to anyone was baggage. "I'm not with you because I feel like I _should_ be, Dean, I'm with you because I _want_ to be, and sooner or later you've got to stop thinking this was somehow all _your_ idea. I started this, remember?"

"Even if you did, I-"

"I don't wanna hear it. Just…just trust me a little, ok? I know what I'm doing, and I'm happy, so unless you wanna tell me that this isn't what _you_ want-"

"_No_, I just-"

"Then can we never talk about me leaving again? Ever? Please? Because it's not gonna happen." Vulnerable like this, Dean usually needed some space to get himself back to normal under his own terms, and Sam gave it to him, standing up to go shuffle around in his bag for Dean's present. "I mean, I'm sorry, but you're kind of stuck with me. I'm not sure you could get rid of me at this point even if you did want to." More than sure. No way in hell he was leaving his brother's side, not even if Dean _did_ change his mind.

"Alright, alright, I got it, but if you're the one who said we shouldn't talk about it, so why are you still-"

"Merry Christmas." He shoved the package into his hands before Dean could finish and he flopped back down on the bed, lying back and crossing his arms behind his head to watch Dean open it. "This _is_ an actual present, and you should recognize it. I think. I'm not so good with album covers." Except for this one, which he definitely remembered.

Caleb had given Dean an old original copy of Zeppelin IV back when they were kids, and Dean had pretty much been beside himself with happiness over it. Of course, that had only lasted until dad had told him they didn't have room to keep stuff like that around, and he'd sold it a few months later for about $40 and put the money into the ammo fund.

"Sammy…" He turned it over in his hands, slid his fingers over the runes. "Can't believe you remembered." He looked back over his shoulder to where Sam was stretched out on the bed, and Sam was glad to see the worry that had been there just a few minutes before smoothing out. "This is perfect, Sam. Thank you."

"Don't know where you're gonna play it, but I thought you deserved to have it."

"I'll figure somethin' out. Think Bobby's got a turntable downstairs." He reached back and shoved at Sam's shoulder, affectionately rough. "C'mon. We gotta go make sure they don't kill each other."

As far as most people Christmas' went, he was still sure this was pretty damn unconventional, but it was _Christmas_, and that was enough.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**2004**

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Out of all the things they lost those last few years in that other life, some of the things he missed the most were the little things like the way Dean said his name when he was teasing and even the silly things, like the fact that they used to still play around like little boys sometimes. There used to be pranks and wrestling matches and all sorts of stupid pointless crap that he pretended to whine about but that he really loved, because they were _brothers_ for God's sakes and that was just something that had been part of their relationship from the time he was tiny and stepping on Dean's heels.

Along with an endless list of reasons this time around was better, there's the fact that they still do that, still play with each other like he's 5 and Dean's 9 and dad's gonna have to break it up before somebody gets hurt or they break a light or something. Except now it's even better, because playing around like brothers usually turns into playing around like lovers, and it's the best of both worlds.

There's been a prank war going on for the past several hundred miles, and though most of them have been out of his sight dad's already getting tired of it. Or at least he says he is, but they've both caught him laughing when he doesn't think they're looking and they know he finds most of it pretty damn funny too.

The last one they were alone for, and it involved Sam dumping a whole bottle of hot sauce in Dean's milkshake. Dean had tried to make Sam drink it once he found out, and the struggle had ended when he had Sam pinned to the wall. By that point, though, he just kissed him.

Of course, Sam had to find Dean's next one when they were working a case, and he just happened to take a picture of something in the house to look at on his phone. It wasn't until they were back in the car that he pulled it up for a closer look, and actually noticed the rest of his photo gallery. There were five new ones, all of Dean, and his heart stopped just a little when he saw just the first one. He had no idea when the hell Dean took them though it had to have been sometime over the past few days, but they're…_God_, they were gorgeous.

There's a reason women can't take their eyes off him wherever they go, because everything him about him is sexy without him even trying, but when he _does_ try…

Sam bit his tongue to keep from groaning, his eyes glued to the first picture. Dean was spread back on the seat of the Impala, holding the phone up above him. His shirt was off and his jeans low on his hips and Sam could see the mark just below Dean's collar that he knows he left just about a week ago. Dean was even giving the camera the 'c'mere and touch me already' look that Sam's seen in his eyes hundreds of times by now and it was fucking _cruel_.

He slammed the phone shut, tried to adjust himself in his jeans without being too obvious. Dad was driving and luckily he was still talking, but they were both in the back looking over the case file together, and when he looked over at Dean, he was already smirking.

"Somethin' wrong, Sammy?"

He lowered his voice, whispering under the sound of the music and intermittent talking. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Don't think I'd be much use to you then."

He glared but Dean just smiled, enough of a hint of want in his eyes to make Sam's blood pump just a little faster. They stopped for dinner at a roadhouse, and every time Dean wrapped his lips around his beer he was slow and deliberate about it, his eyes darting over at Sam, and halfway through Sam kicked him under the table. The next time dad turned around to talk to the guy beside them Sam yanked Dean close, whispering.

"Alright. You win."

"Seriously? I mean, I knew you were easy, but I didn't-"

"Shut up."

Dean laughed, easy and unrestrained, and the next time he took a drink he was merciful enough to not make _quite_ as much of a production out of it. Not that he didn't look sexy as hell doing it anyway.

"Alright, Sammy. Truce."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

With everything that's happened since then, he'd kind of forgotten about Cassie. Granted he never knew _too_ much about her anyway, and he never knew _exactly_ when Dean met her, but somehow he didn't expect it to be on his birthday. Of course, he might've known to sort of expect it if he'd been able to remember _where_ he'd heard of Athens, Ohio, but every time he tried he just couldn't place it.

Dad had already cleared out a couple days before to get a head start on the next hunt, and they had just finished up in time to go out and celebrate his 21st. The college bar they were at was a little emptier and less noisy than normal due to it still being pretty early in the evening, and he got a good view of her, sitting at a table not far from their booth with a friend. She was eyeing Dean with increasing interest, and even though it was irrational to be bothered by it it still pissed him off.

Dean had told her _everything_, had trusted her with more of himself than he'd ever given anyone outside the family and she'd thrown it back at him, and for that Sam had wanted to tell her just what he thought about her, but Dean had still cared about her even then and he hadn't wanted to get into it for that reason, but now, he could hardly think anything past _mine_ and _get the fuck away_.

At Dean's insistence they were drinking tequila(because drinking anything else on your birthday is just _wrong_), and when some lime juice Dean didn't catch ran down his hand Sam reached out and caught his arm, pulling it across the table to lick it off his wrist.

They generally tended to keep their hands mostly to themselves in public and he almost expected Dean to pull away, but he didn't. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating, and he held still and let Sam suck the sharp tang of lime from his skin. When he was finished he let go slowly, licking his lips, but _Dean_ was the one with the 'cat that ate the canary' style smile.

"Geez, Sammy, something you wanna tell everybody?"

"Not _everybody_." He looked at her over the glass as he took his own shot, vindictive pleasure sparking hot in his chest when he saw that she _had_ been watching. Good. It was stupid, totally stupid, but he wanted her to see that Dean wasn't hers, wasn't anyone's but his.

Dean followed his gaze and saw her, and he smirked as he poured them another shot. "Well she's hot, Sam, but c'mon, you know it's just us. You gotta know I've never-"

"No, no, I know. She was just…staring." _And before, you slept her with for God only knows how long._ Somehow, it got under his skin just a little more too to know that this was probably almost exactly how it started back then. Dad left and Dean finished the case, and he came here to drink and forget it was Sam's birthday. It made sense, because he knew he'd sure his hell drunk himself nearly unconscious on Dean's at least until he met Jess and had to celebrate _hers_ then(and that had been a bitch), but somehow the thought of Dean taking her back and fucking her _today_ of all days…

He downed his shot quick, didn't even bother with the salt or the lime, and he caught Dean's hand again the minute he sat it down. "C'mon."

"Sam, she can stare all she wants, we can stay, maybe play some pool-"

He shook his head, already sure of what he wanted. "Not tonight. Let's just go back to the room." He leaned over the table, talking soft and low and close to Dean's ear. "Cause I want you to fuck me. Can we do that?" He'd never known just _exactly_ how this thing between them would go and they'd mostly fallen into it without talking about it, but it had been pretty clear early on Dean actually preferred to bottom. Whether it was because he was Dean's brother or if he'd have been that way with anyone else he'd never know, but it worked perfect and he was fine with it, but every now and then, they switched it up a little. No matter what they did, though, most of the time Dean was slow and steady and thorough and fucking mind-blowing and that was great, but there was something to be said for rough and dark and possessive and downright fucking needy, and just then he needed Dean to _own_ him and make him remember it.

No matter what he needed, Dean always came through.

Dean tossed back his own last shot, looked at Sam with eyes that were such a deep heady green Sam shivered even in the heat of the bar.

"Alright, yeah. Think I can do that."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam's arms were shaking, close to giving out, and he moaned embarrassingly loud at just the _sound_ of Dean's belt clinking open. Dean's hands were back on him at the sound, sliding up his flanks with easy familiarity.

"God, Sam, you have idea what you do to me? Listen to you, Jesus…"

He couldn't help it. It was always something close to this anyway, but tonight he'd seen her, and thinking about what could've happened, what _had_ happened; that was driving him crazy. He could just _see_ her on her back for him, Dean pushing into her the way he did when he was being careful, his every move deliberate. He could see it, and he ached to have it pushed out of it his mind, to have Dean buried in him so deep he'd never think of it again.

"Dean…" His breath hitched around the word, desperate, and Dean's palm pressed against his spine.

"Yeah. Yeah, two seconds, Sammy, ok? I got ya."

He heard him shuffle out of his boots, kicking his jeans and boxers to the floor after them. Dean had already teased him enough to drive him nearly crazy, and when Dean's thumb slid over his entrance he cried out, shuddering and pushing back against the touch.

"Alright, alright, just makin' sure you're ready." Dean lined himself up, and from the first feel of Dean sinking in he didn't even breathe, just _felt_. All the way in Dean's body covered his, his back pressed against Dean's chest. He could feel the points of the amulet digging into his skin, and he hoped like hell it left a mark.

His hand fit perfectly against Sam's hip, and when he started to thrust into him his fingers flexed over twitching muscle. His lips moved against Sam's shoulder, mouthing wetly at everything he could reach, whispering against damp skin the kinds of things Dean usually only said to him in the dark.

"How could you, huh? How could you think I'm gonna look at her? You're…you're Sammy. My Sammy."

_My _Sammy.

Yeah, he was that. He was Dean's through and through, and he had been since before he was even old enough to know it. Wasn't that kind of how the whole soulmate thing worked anyway? He seriously _belonged _to Dean, down to his soul. He moaned his brother's name, pushed back hard into him. He could listen to that voice say his name forever and he'd be alright, just as long as he kept hearing that.

"Yeah, I know, you like that. Just gotta start trustin' me that it means something."

"I do, I do, I just…oh God Dean…" Dean bit down on his shoulder, and his arms shook with the exertion of nearly holding both of their weight when his whole body already felt like it was about to fly apart.

Dean shifted, changing his angle, and he hit Sam just right, pure pleasure jolting hot and powerful through his veins. Dean moaned then, and he pressed his forehead against Sam's shoulder, breathing heavy.

"Gonna come for me, Sammy? Just like this? I know you can, know you're so fucking close." He was, desperately, and even though part of him had been ready to nearly beg Dean for his hand, hearing him say that had his cock twitching up against his belly, already leaking. Dean talking to him like _that_, low and rough and pure sex…he felt like he could do pretty much whatever he asked, sayin' it like that.

A soft strangled sound made its way out of his throat, and Dean groaned, low and satisfied, a sound Sam could feel in the rumble of his chest. "What do you need, Sammy? What do you want?" He nuzzled against his back, the scrape of stubble so familiar and arousing now that Sam trembled just a little harder. "Give you anything, you know that, don't you?"

Yeah, he did. He knew it far too well, and it was a fact he both craved and feared. Right now, the way he craved it was definitely winning. He jerked his hips back to meet Dean's, and he managed to get the word out around his panting. "Harder. Please."

"Anything."

From there it all ran together, _fuckSammyGodDeanyesplease_ and then he was right there, crying out and coming hard, cock jerking as he spilled all over the sheets. He could feel Dean let go inside him, and he shuddered with pleasure, skin buzzing happy and warm at the thought of Dean claiming him like that, _taking_ him.

When Dean collapsed he rolled to the side, one arm around Sam's waist pulling him over to rest on that side of the bed with him. He kept the one arm loose around him while they caught their breath, and when Sam finally tilted his head up looking for a kiss Dean's other hand came around to steady him, cupping against his jaw.

Dean kissed across his cheekbones and over his eyelids, so gentle and sure all at once that it took his breath away.

"C'mon. We can sleep in the other one."

They stumbled over to it, and Dean ended up on his back, Sam wrapped around him. When he kissed the edge of Dean's mouth in the dark, he could feel his brother smile.

"Happy birthday, Sam."

All things considered, he agreed with that.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"I think we should get tattoos."

Dean looked up from the map he was scanning, eyebrows raising before he pulled the pen he'd been chewing on out of his mouth to answer. "As kinky as that sounds, I think even you'd get tired of seeing your name on my ass."

Sam made a face, sitting down across from him and flipping the notepad down onto the table. "Wouldn't wanna see it there to begin with. I mean somethin' like _this_." He shoved the notepad closer to Dean, tapping his fingers over the image. He'd drawn it as perfectly as he could remember, the pentagram inside the sun. 2005 was getting closer every day, and much as he mostly liked to not think about it, this at least was one precaution they could take _now_.

Dean scooted a little closer to look at it, fingers trailing over the paper.

"It'd protect against demonic possession. I know it's never happened, but it's a danger and-"

'Yeah, ok. I'm cool with it." Sometimes, it hurt to realize just how implicitly Dean had trusted him, before. He could still remember all too clearly every way he'd fucked that up. Dean tossed the notepad back over to him, focusing on the map again. "That's a pretty good idea, Sammy, where'd you get that?"

He shrugged, ripping the top page off and folding it up before sticking it inside the pocket of his jacket. "Nowhere, really. Just…thought about it, after that demon dad exorcised awhile back."

"Yeah, well, he'll think it's great I'm sure. We can talk to him when he gets back, maybe go do it together." He paused, circling a lake nearby on the map. "I dunno Sam…I still think my name'd look pretty hot on your-"

"If what you're gettin' ready to say is anything you wanna see for the next month, I'd stop right there, Dean."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**2005**

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

After New Year's 05 rolled around, he started to realize he'd been a little too complacent. Or a lot too complacent, maybe, but who the hell could blame him? He'd had his dad back and his brother back and they'd been living what sort of became his dream life after he realized the grass really wasn't greener on the other side and really, he should be entitled to enjoy that a little.

But now, now everything was going to be starting, and if he wanted to stay on top of things he needed to get his ass in gear. Somewhat, at least. At first, he just wrote down a cryptic list on a slip of paper, just a few letters jotted down that meant something to him but that wouldn't really mean anything to anyone else.

Azazel hadn't showed up yet as far as he could tell, but the first thing he needed to do would be to check dad's research, remind himself all the signs and omens he needed to be looking for. After he knew that for sure he needed to swing them by the Roadhouse, get to know Ash _now _and get him looking for the first sign of trouble. Then there was the Colt, but that one shouldn't be too hard, though if Daniel Elkins resisted them taking it it would be. Still, he wasn't above just _taking_ it, not over this.

He was researching one night, skimming through every town he could find that'd had storms followed by a house fire. He'd found two so far, but neither one had children of the right age and they both seemed clearly started by lightning.

They were alone in the motel room while dad was out on stakeout a couple towns over, and he'd left Dean sprawled out and sleeping, so it startled the hell out of him when he felt Dean's hands close over his shoulders, warm and strong.

"What you looking at?"

"Nothing." He closed the computer quick, shoving his scrap of paper back in his pocket. It had to look suspicious as hell and he _knew_ it, but he really didn't want to try to explain. "Just…thought I was onto this demon thing. But it's nothing, just some storms."

"Uh-huh." It was clear Dean didn't believe him, but he didn't push, just leaned over and kissed his temple before pulling away and slapping his shoulder. "Well get up and c'mon to bed, we gotta head out at like, 7. At least. And you're driving, cause I'm goin' back to sleep in the car."

Back in bed, he wrapped his arms around Dean and let his brother hold him close. Times like that, it felt so right it was easy to think that maybe he was crazy and this was all there ever had been.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"You have any idea how long you take in the shower? It's ridiculous; we ever buy a house and we'll have a water bill the size of Texas."

"_I_ take too long in the shower? Really?" The comeback was instinctive, even as shocked as he was to see Dean there. "Thought you weren't gonna get here till tomorrow!" Not that he was complaining, not in the slightest. A week without Dean had been more than enough. He'd stayed behind to help Bobby wrap up a case, and dad had been with Sam investigating a cursed object. The time without Dean had reminded him uncomfortably of before, and with November getting closer every day he was already uneasy enough. Not that he'd had too much time to think about it, because the past few days had been grueling. He'd nearly fallen asleep in the damn shower.

Dean was stretched out on the bed, shirt rising up just a little over his jeans and that's exactly where Sam's hand went when he moved onto the bed beside him, fingers curving eagerly against the strip of bare skin. Dean shifted in closer, reaching up to push wet hair away from his eyes.

"You really thought I was gonna miss your birthday? Besides the fact that I wouldn't anyway, 22's a big one. Mean's you're past all the fun birthdays." He smirked, his fingers tangling in Sam's hair. "From here on out it's all just gettin' old, Sammy."

"Great, thanks for that."

"Wouldn't be doin' my job if I didn't remind you of shit like that. C'mere." Dean pulled him down for a kiss, warm and wet and unhurried. His teeth caught on Sam's lower lip, biting down gently, and Sam pressed a little closer. "Missed you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I missed you too. You and Bobby get everything wrapped up?"

"Ah, yeah. Stupid ass witch." Dean's eyes were searching him, somewhere between inspecting and appreciating. "You look tired."

"I'm exhausted. We've kind of hit a dead end…we're not sure if it's _really_ cursed or just possessed with some spirit or something we can deal with. Which, we're hoping it's a spirit cause if not we've gotta manage to steal a picture that I'm pretty sure won't even fit out the door of the building. Between everything we've been reading and doing surveillance outside the place I don't think I've had more than two hours of sleep together since we got into town."

Dean nuzzled against his throat, teeth scraping lightly against his skin. "Well then let's just sleep for awhile. When's dad gonna be back?"

Tired or not, the feeling of Dean's lips on his skin had him stirring awake, a soft appreciative hum rising from his chest. "I dunno…he didn't say. Think he's doin' surveillance there for a few hours at least." But getting down to the real question of that, even if it _was_ a few hours, it wouldn't be long enough that he felt safe pulling off the towel and crawling into bed naked with him. As much as he wished he could. He stroked his fingers through Dean's hair, held his head in place while Dean marked his shoulder, tongue swirling against the bruise once he'd left it. It was easy to forget, then, that he'd been planning to get up. He tightened his grip on Dean's hair and turned to kiss him, a slow drag of their lips slanted against each other. It was easy and languid, though when he shifted against him he could feel Dean already hard through his jeans. That was something that never failed to get his head spinning and he gasped, his hand sliding up to rub his thumb against the stubble on Dean's cheek.

When Dean's hands pushed at his shoulders to put some distance between them, he nearly whined. Dean laughed, stroked his thumb gentle over the corner of Sam's eyes like he had sometimes when he was a kid, half asleep and still staying up to sit up with Dean while he did research. "You look like you're about to pass out."

" 'm fine." And, yeah, he was definitely about to drop. If they did this quick, though, he'd probably be good for it, but he'd pass out right afterward and that probably wouldn't look so good if dad came in.

"C'mon." He shoved him back a little harder, rolling away from him. "We'll pick it up later; let's get some sleep."

He was so tired he couldn't help but agree, but that didn't mean he'd let it go without teasing him a little. "Wait…you're choosing sleep over _sex_? Excuse me, _who's_ getting old here? Oh wait, I almost forgot, you're already-" He took a pillow to the face for that, and his reflexes were just dulled enough not to smack it away in time.

"Watch it, bitch. And get some clothes on." Dean was already stripped almost down to his boxers, and he reached into Sam's bag on the dresser, pulling out a pair of his and tossing them at him. He rolled over and dropped the towel to the floor before tugging them on and easing down under the covers. He was so worn down that it felt pretty incredible, and when Dean slid in beside him he wrapped an arm around Dean's chest, spooning up behind him and holding him tight. There was just something about holding Dean like this, something about Dean _letting_ him hold him like this that he loved. It felt warm and safe and perfect, and he sighed with pleasure as he nuzzled against the nape of Dean's neck, briefly tasting the pattern of freckles he'd long since memorized. Dean tensed a little in his arms, and Sam felt the intake of breath and cut him off before he even spoke.

"We'll hear him coming, right? I just…it's better like this." So, _so_ much better.

"Sam-"

"Shh." He slid his arm up a little higher, hand closing over Dean's wrist. "Just go to sleep."

He sighed, but he went quiet, and it took Sam all of about 30 seconds to fall asleep.

_It was Dean not being next to him that woke him. He'd been __**used **__to the feel of Dean's weight there for years but now he __**needed**__ it, because his absence just felt wrong and he hated sleeping without him. He reached for him, stretching his arm across the bed to even just brush against him in the dark. Dad would never be able to tell. _

_The sheets were warm but he was gone, and that was enough to make his eyes start to crack open._

_A drop hit his shoulder, blood warm and soaking through his shirt, and he could hear himself screaming '__**NO**__!' even before he managed to turn over. Dean was on the ceiling above him, blood dripping from a wound just above his waist, and in the silence before the fire started, Sam could hear him whisper. _

"_Sammy…" He was terrified, his eyes panicked, and then the fire swallowed him whole._

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;


	6. Chapter 6

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Sam jerked awake, sitting up in bed as his heart jackhammered in his chest. It was beating so hard it hurt, pounding harshly against his ribs. _Fuck_, he was gonna throw up. He jerked the covers off and practically bolted to the bathroom, collapsing on the tile and heaving over the bowl. He hadn't really had dinner the night before so there wasn't much for him to lose but his muscles quaked and shivered with the force of trying, Dean still looking down on him from behind his eyes.

This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this, not _now_. Azazel had told him before that he'd killed Jess because he was going to settle down with her and he needed him sharp, needed him hunting, but maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe it had something to do with settling down in any form, even if it was settling into _this_ life with his brother. Or maybe it was sheer vindictive hatred, animosity for the fact that Sam loved him. It could be anything or nothing at all, because he'd learned a long time ago demons didn't have to have a reason to fuck you over.

He dragged himself to his feet, smacking at the handle to flush before bending nearly in half over the sink, dousing his face with cold water.

"Sam?" Dean's voice came from the doorway, and the sound of it all soft and rough with sleep drew him like hooks through his chest.

"Yeah, sorry. I just…" He gestured, lost all hope for making any kind of sense. It was a miracle he wasn't fucking shaking like a leaf. He stopped in the doorway, kissed Dean's forehead and wrapped him in as desperate of a hug as he could before Dean recovered enough from the shock to try to reciprocate. He pulled away then, looking away from the confusion in Dean's eyes. "I gotta…" _Go panic now, no big deal. _"Gotta get some air. Just go back to sleep; I won't be long."

He didn't look back after he brushed past him, just snatched his room key off the table and slipped out the door into the night. The parking lot was nearly empty, the Impala there right in front of the motel room door. He'd thought to take a walk, maybe, but he didn't make it any further than the hood. He settled back against it, half sitting half leaning, and he tilted his head back, shutting his eyes. The cool wind felt good on his face but the rest of him was freezing, shivering from the cold and the memory of the dream, still razor sharp and cutting at him.

It might've been stupid, hell it was probably _really_ stupid, but he'd honestly been sure this part wasn't going to happen. It had involved Jess and another life where he settled down away from hunting, so he'd thought that this at least was one of those things he wasn't going to have to worry about. Hell, he hadn't been sure _what_ his first vision was gonna be this time around but he'd figured it probably wouldn't be until Max Miller.

In hindsight, he really should've known better, should've at least let it cross his mind that in doing this, he might've made Dean a target. Now, he was going to have to take action. He needed to find the Colt, and he needed it _yesterday_ because there was no way in hell he was gonna be caught unprepared if Azazel was coming for Dean. He wasn't gonna lay a fucking hand on his brother, that was for _damn_ sure.

Getting the Colt meant a trip to Colorado was in their future, and he was going to have to find a way to explain it to Dean other than 'I just know', because even _trusting_ him, Dean wasn't gonna be willing to go cross country on that.

He heard the door click open, and even though he wasn't surprised he still jerked when he felt Dean's hands against his thighs as he stepped up to stand between his legs against the car. Dean brought one hand up, brushing hair back from his eyes.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Look at me, man." He didn't really want to do that, because the minute Dean saw his eyes, he was gonna see the panic, and that just…that just wouldn't help. Of course, hesitating was gonna tell him enough anyway. He opened his eyes, blinked at the sudden fluorescent parking lot light for a moment before his eyes flickered over Dean's.

"I'm fine, Dean, it's nothing, really."

"Yeah, cause you're acting _so_ normal." The worry was thicker in his voice now, and his hand curved to Sam's jaw, rubbing his thumb over his skin. "Sam, you're scarin' me, what the hell's wrong?"

"Nothing." In all likihood, the more he said it he was actually gonna _hurt_ Dean eventually by not answering, but better that than to tell him the full truth. That one would probably hurt a hell of a lot more.

"Yeah, well I'm not buyin' it." Dean's right hand slid over his thigh, gentle and comforting. "Why won't you tell me what's goin' on?"

"I just…" The vision had already stretched him too thin and there was something in Dean's eyes, that familiar big brother look he'd seen so many times. The fear was pressing hard on him and he crumbled under it, pulling Dean suddenly close and burying his face against his neck. The scent of the road and the car and everything else from the day had worn off him and he just smelled like _Dean_, and Sam breathed him in. Every single thing he'd ever faced in his life, from scraped knees all the way up to Lucifer, _this_ was the only thing that ever managed to always feel safe. Dean was his _brother_, strong and steady and warm, and with Dean's arms around him he'd always felt safe. Even when he wasn't.

Dean held on just as tight, hands rubbing against his back over his t-shirt. He whispered against Sam's ear, his voice low and easy but a little apprehensive, like he was afraid of spooking him. "You know I'll help you, soon as I know what's goin' on. Just let me help you, Sammy, please…I don't know what to say if I don't know-"

"It's nothing." He held on tighter before Dean could contradict him, his fingers fisting in the back of Dean's shirt. "Just a stupid dream. That's all." If only.

Dean turned his head, kissed soft skin just below Sam's ear. "This job, those can get rough sometimes. You wanna tell me about it?"

No. No he absolutely didn't. He shook his head.

"Think it might help."

Not at all.

Dean shifted against the car, one hand sliding higher to cup the back of Sam's neck. "Well no matter what it was, it's just a dream, Sammy. You know I'd never let anything happen to you."

Yeah, but that absolutely wasn't what he was worried about. Well, maybe a little down the road, but that was more in the sense of all the things Dean _would_ do rather than let something happen to him than the thought of something actually happening to _him_. That didn't scare him at all, really. Still, it was something Dean had said all his life, something he'd repeated since Sam was four and having nightmares about clowns.

_Doesn't matter, Sammy, I won't let it get you. You know I'd never let anything happen to you._

He swallowed, eyes burning with the sting of tears.

Just once, he wanted to be the one who could say that to Dean.

_Don't worry, it doesn't matter what's supposed to happen, what I saw. I won't ever let anything happen to you._

That sounded about right. As far as he was concerned, Azazel could just go back to hell.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

He broke into the truck that week. He waited until dad was asleep, and he sent Dean out for food. Technically he didn't think it should count as _breaking in_ because he swiped the keys and used those, but he did have to pick the lock on the glove box to get what he needed.

It was shocking how much of it was actually there. The weather patterns, 90% of the signs and omens he could still mostly remember from before…it was all there. Clearly, Azazel was already well on the move. Based off of everything he knew, dad would follow him in November, just in time for him to hit Palo Alto. Except this time…this time he'd be heading to wherever he and Dean were, and while he wasn't sure if that meant dad wouldn't be leaving right on cue, he wasn't going to wait around and see.

They needed the Colt and they needed it _then_, because if that fucker came for Dean, he was gonna be ready for him.

He sketched down a few notes on a pad of paper he'd stolen from the hotel drawer, and he shoved it all back into the glove box again before Dean could get back. They ate together and went to take their shift doing guard duty on the building, and when they saw an actual manifestation of the spirit they fought it off and saved the night guard, spent the next six hours digging up the corpse of Erik Johnson for a salt and burn.

They were just covering the grave back up when Dean reminded him just why he'd never been able to pull anything over on his brother.

"So…" He stabbed the shovel into the ground, leaning on it as he looked over at Sam. "I am really tired of waitin'. Seriously. So if you could tell me what the hell's got you jumpin' at fuckin' cigarette lighters and not sleeping and just get it over with, I'd appreciate it, because there is something _seriously_ wrong with you, and it's drivin' me crazy tryin' to figure out what it is." He had just opened his mouth when Dean held his hand out, stopping. "And if you say 'nothing' again, so help me, Sam, I'm gonna…" He trailed off, shaking his head. The past few years, Dean had been just a little less willing to punch him. Even if they _were_ brothers still, something about their dynamic had irrevocably changed, but even if Dean didn't _want_ to hit him, Sam was still pretty sure that if he got mad enough at him, he would anyway.

He leaned hard on his own shovel, reaching up to wipe sweat out of his eyes. "Dean, I don't know what to tell you. I told you, I haven't been sleeping well, it's _nothing_, ok? I'm…sure I'll be fine in a week or so. I'm just tired." And honestly, he hadn't slept more than an hour at a time since he'd had the vision. He hadn't _seen_ it again, but yesterday he'd had a regular old fashioned nightmare about it, and that had been bad enough. Mostly he watched Dean sleep or he planned, running everything over a thousand times in his head.

Dean laughed, short and angry. "Wow. Yeah, ok. Whatever, Sam." He shifted his grip on the shovel, shoving it with a little more force than necessary into the pile of dirt still left to the side.

He sounded so closed down it hurt, and Sam swallowed hard. "Dean, I-"

"Just forget it. You sure as hell don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, I don't know why I-"

"Dean-" He reached out, catching his arm, startled when Dean jerked back. Dean had never pulled away from him, not like _this,_ and it cut him, his hand stinging at the loss. "Come on, Dean, I-"

"You can finish up here, right? I'll tell dad where to pick you up."

Watching him walk away hurt too much for Sam to even have the presence of mind to follow him.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam tossed the shovel and his bag in the back of the truck, pulling himself up into the passenger seat. The radio was turned down low but he recognized Zeppelin. Kashmir. That one he'd known ever since he was little, since dad had told them it had been mom's favorite Zeppelin song.

"You been done long?"

"No sir. Just…I dunno, half hour maybe."

He nodded, looking back over his shoulder out the window as he pulled the truck back over onto the main road. "You boys did a good job finding Erik. I was startin' to think he was into somethin' else, enough to curse the damn place." He shifted the wheel into one hand the way Dean sometimes did, his eyes cutting off the road to look over at Sam. "What are you and your brother fightin' about, Sammy?"

_Because if I tell him what I did, he'll never forgive me and getting this…it'll half be for nothing._

Of course, he couldn't exactly say that. He shrugged, looked out the window into the dark. "I hurt him. He thinks…he tried to talk to me about somethin', and I turned him down." That was it, at its most basic, and the more he'd thought about it while he finished filling in the grave the more he'd felt like shit. Dean had started to really open up to him the past couple years, to be comfortable enough with him to give and take however much affection he wanted so long as there wasn't anyone around who knew they were brothers, to not be afraid to talk to him about things that were important without dragging his heels _too_ bad first. It had been great and improving and now, it looked like he was ruining it.

"That's not how he told it."

Sam turned his head at that, shocked. "What'd he say?"

"Said he pushed you when he shouldn't have. Seemed pretty pissed at himself to me, and I told him I thought he should come back and get you himself and talk it out but…well, I kinda wanted to talk to you for a minute anyway, so maybe it's good he thought you wouldn't want to see him right away."

Dean had thought _he_ wouldn't want to see him? Jesus. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to get a handle on the jumble of relief and hurt in his chest. At least Dean wasn't furious at him anymore, and that was something, but it all came back to everything about Dean that had been forced into him from the age of the four. His fear of being a burden, of pushing the people he loved away or letting them down, all of it had been hammered into him by the life he led. The angels preyed on it as heavily as the demons, and every time Dean was the one who paid the price. Sam had been trying to be the one fucking person to break through it, the one Dean could trust to be there for him because he _wanted_ to be, no matter what, but apparently even that wasn't sinking in as well as he'd hoped it might be.

"I just, uh…well, been meaning to talk to you about this for a long time, but…I just wanted you to know, I've been real proud of you these last few years." He'd been so hung up on what he'd said about Dean, he'd almost forgotten dad had mentioned wanting to talk to him in there too. "I know this hasn't always been what you wanted, and-"

"No, dad, I-"

"Just let me finish, Sammy, ok?" He was smiling, and Sam nodded, letting him talk. "I know you coulda had a better life if you left, and honestly part of me wanted that for you. But I'm glad you stayed, and you and Dean, I couldn't be more proud of you. Ok?"

"Yeah, dad, I…I'm glad I stayed too."

He was too shocked by it and too still half focused on Dean to think clear just then, but after he got out of the car he couldn't help thinking there was a hell of a lot more he should've said, and that if he was looking for a chance to tell his dad that he loved him and he'd forgiven him, that had probably been it.

'''''''''''''''''''''''

When he came in, it was clear Dean was tryin' to pretend not to have been staring at the door. Sam let him, and he turned his back to toss his bags down next to the table by the window. "Dad's goin' out. Said he heard from Caleb about what might be a new case, Caleb's just an hour out so he's gonna meet up with him. Said he'll call and let us know if we're takin' it, that we can meet him there."

"Sam, I'm sorry."

He sounded it too, tired and wounded and like he really had been worried Sam wasn't gonna want to see him. Sam shook his head. "Dean, I'm not mad. Look, I'm the one that-" He stopped, startled out of his thoughts by Dean's hand against his shoulder, his touch light and tentative. He turned to face him, glad when Dean left his hand where it was. "_I'm_ sorry, ok? I just need you to trust me here." Fuck, it hurt to say it, because really, this was the _opposite_ of that. He needed Dean to trust him, yeah, and for the most part Dean _did_, implicitly. Even now, when he was lying to him. He'd had more than enough of the sick feeling he got lying to Dean to last him a lifetime. It never got easier, only worse.

"You know I do. It's just…knowing somethin's wrong, and you won't tell me what it is? That fuckin' scares me, Sam, you gotta know that. But-" The hand on his shoulder tightened, holding on. "But I get it. You wanna keep it to yourself so…I mean if you change your mind…" Dean gave up, looking away and shaking his head. "Dammit, you know what I'm tryin' to say. I'm sorry, and I'm here if you change your mind, but I'm not gonna try to make you do anything, you just-"

"Dean, it's not that-"

"Can we not talk about this anymore? Huh? Just…c'mere." He reached up and pulled Sam down into a kiss, his tongue stroking along Sam's lower lip looking for permission he hadn't even bothered to ask for for a long time. Sam opened to him easily, his arms automatically wrapping around him. He walked them back, pushing until he had Dean up against the wall, braced on one hand as they kissed. Dean had kept control and he was more than willing to let him, moaning at the hungry way Dean was tasting him, like Sam's absence even for the past couple hours had driven him crazy. Sam could easily understand.

When they broke for air he whispered against Dean's lips, nuzzling against him. "Thought you were still gonna be pissed."

"Wasn't pissed anymore the minute I left." His hands tightened in the front of Sam's shirt, hauling him closer. "Never wanna see you look at me like that again."

Sam pressed him up against the wall, right leg slipping between Dean's, chest to chest. "Then don't leave. Don't leave me." _God, please, Dean, don't ever leave me._ That was the one thing he feared, more than hell and more than Lucifer, and it was part of the jumbled mess that had sent him back here in the first place. If Dean left him, he wouldn't be able to go on. Not then, and certainly not now.

Dean kissed him again, sucked lightly at Sam's tongue until he drew just the sound out of him that he was looking for. "I won't. You know I won't, I can't. Told you that to begin with, remember? Just me and you." He didn't give him time to answer, just claimed his lips again and jerked a little harder on Sam's shirt, not letting him back up an inch. Not that he'd wanted to.

He flexed his hand against Dean's neck, felt the answering shift in the muscles under his fingers. Sam pressed him against the wall, breathing hard between kisses that hardly let up, and when he shifted his thigh a little higher Dean thrust against it, crying out softly as his head knocked back against the wall, baring his throat.

Beyond the whole doing his brother thing it was probably a little wrong that he never failed to be turned on by the way Dean just _submitted_ to him, but he couldn't help it. He was pretty sure he couldn't be this way with everyone(or maybe Sam just hoped), because he could be damn forceful when he wanted to, but this was Dean at his most open and honest, the kind of thing they had most of the time when it wasn't just getting off or fucking or anything else but _them_.

Dean's eyes were closed, and when Sam looked up at from under his own eyelashes, he could see Dean's eyelids flutter as Sam sucked on his neck. He was gentle about it, not leaving a mark, and when he tongued the spot slowly as he pulled away Dean whined in a way that went more to his heart than his cock, and that was saying a _lot. _

It was _good_ like this, the press of his body against Dean's, letting Dean ride against his thigh as they kissed so desperately they were hardly even taking a breath apart, but just then there was something else he wanted. He slid to his knees, quick, and he pushed Dean's hands back when they tried to hook under his shoulders at first and pull him back to his feet.

He nuzzled against the front of Dean's jeans, and Dean stopped trying to get him back on his level. His breath went just a little more ragged, his fingers stroking through Sam's hair in way that was far more loving than grabby.

"Sammy…Sammy, yeah, please, want you to-"

"Shhh." He unfastened his pants, yanked them just low enough around his thighs that he could get at what he wanted. He meant to suck him down all at once, really; surprise him. He couldn't. There was a drop of moisture already beading at the tip, and Sam curled his tongue just around the head, suckling it off. Dean swore, and though he heard his head hit pretty hard against the wall his grip on Sam's hair didn't tighten and he didn't push. Sam pulled back to lick his lips, indulged himself again by running his tongue up along the underside. Dean felt _so_ good on his tongue, thick and hard and full, but even better was the way he trembled, the broken, hitched way he moaned like Sam was taking him apart. As long as _he_ was the one doing it, Sam could handle that. He was the only one that knew how all the pieces went back together anyway. Castiel had said he fixed him, built him again from the ground up and Sam had always resented him for that. No angel knew the way Dean worked better than he did. Not even one who'd seen him in hell.

He slipped a hand into his own pants, started working himself as he stretched his mouth open, sucking in earnest. He couldn't take him _all_ the way, he still had trouble with that, but he went as far as he could, his tongue lapping and stroking in just the ways he knew from experience could make Dean come hard and fast.

"Sam…oh _God_, Sammy, fuck…" It was a warning he didn't need. He knew Dean's other signs well enough, like the way his hips started to thrust forward a little because he was so fucking close on he just couldn't help it anymore. He moaned around him, and he wasn't surprised when Dean's hips bucked forward at the vibration, spilling over into his mouth. He swallowed everything he could and lapped up what he couldn't, loving the way Dean's cock still twitched when he coaxed the last bit of moisture from the tip. He shifted to the side and pressed his forehead against Dean's hip, coming over his own fingers with a soft gasp.

Dean slid to the ground in front of him then, his knees weak, and before he even tucked himself in and zipped up his jeans he pulled Sam forward into a kiss, soft little satisfied sounds rising from his throat as he tasted himself on Sam's tongue.

In the space he had to breath, Sam laughed, and Dean pulled back just enough to give a look that was half still spaced out and half 'what the hell?'.

"It's just…we haven't really fought. I mean, not like _this_, not since we…" He gestured between them, always at a loss as to what to call them. Dean didn't know about the whole soulmates thing yet, and it'd sound weird and crazy in conversation anyway. "Think I like the whole make up sex thing."

Dean rolled his eyes, still a little out of breath as he reached down to zip up his jeans and buckle his belt. "Yeah, well don't get used to it."

No, he never wanted to. No matter what 'good' might come out of it, fighting with Dean was nothing short of hell. "Wouldn't want to." He took a deep breath, settled back on his heels to button up his own pants. "So…we're ok?"

Dean's hand slid across his cheek, resting briefly at the back of his neck and squeezing hard. "Yeah, Sam. We're ok."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

At first, Sam's goal had been not to panic. And he'd tried really fucking hard. Really. But now he'd called dad 15 fucking times and gotten no answer and…

Yeah. Full on panicking.

It was only June for God's sakes! He was on a hunt with Dean in Tennessee, and it had wrapped up fast so he'd been planning that tomorrow they'd set off cross country, hit up the Roadhouse and the Colt on the way. He'd had the vision twice more, and though he'd woken up sweating and shaking both times and screaming once, he'd noticed a little more. He knew the nightstand now, he knew the clock and the pattern on the comforter. The minute he saw that godforsaken room, he'd be ready, and if Azazel wanted to try it anyway, he'd shoot him. Plain and simple.

Not that he wasn't taking precautions anyway. They'd gone through so much salt Dean had briefly complained, but it had only been a couple muttered words. Dean hadn't pushed him again and for that he was glad, but it made him more than a little sick to think he was probably doing it more because he didn't want to fight than because he wasn't still worried because that much was damn obvious.

He'd woken up from a fitful sleep just a couple days before to find Dean rolled over on his side, watching him sleep. He'd looked troubled, but the minute Sam's eyes were open all the way he'd just leaned in for a kiss, smacked him on the chest and told him he needed to brush his teeth, and that there was coffee.

He'd seen that almost resigned 'I guess I won't even ask' look in Dean's eyes before, and keeping this from him now was nearly killing him, but every time he almost cracked he convinced himself how much worse it'd be if Dean knew the truth.

Dealing with all of that on top of the visions…that had been far more than enough.

And now, _five_ fucking months before this was supposed to happen…

_This is John Winchester; I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my boys, Sam and Dean. They can help. You can reach them at 866-907-3235 or 866-555-8612._

No. Just…no. it couldn't be, it was _wrong_, it hadn't been this soon before, it hadn't been like _this_. It was November and Dean was in Lousiana and it _couldn't_, it just couldn't be happening. Not yet.

By the 20th call, he threw the phone down.

He was feeling just on the edge of what was probably some kind of nervous breakdown when Dean came in, and the first few words he said all ran together, but the 'Sammy!' he heard as Dean crouched down in front of him and took his wrists in his hands got his attention.

"He's gone. It's not…I wasn't ready, Dean, it's not…this wasn't supposed to…" The fear choked him, and he struggled for a breath. "I've fucked up. I don't even…"

"Hey, hey, hey." Dean's hands framed his face, stabilizing. "Can we back and up and start from the beginning? Please? Cause it might help if I knew what the hell we were talkin' about."

As much as he hated the thought, it sounded pretty damn nice too. He was in over his head and he needed help, needed Dean and…God, he felt sick. He swallowed hard, his thoughts racing over a dozen different places to begin. "Dean, it's…I'm sorry." He slid off the edge of the bed to settle down on the floor but Dean didn't let go and he sat down in front of him, his hands sliding down Sam's shoulders to rest on his arms.

"It's ok. It's ok. Just tell me. Whatever it is, we'll figure somethin' out, I promise."

He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, and he pulled away a little, drawing one knee up against his chest. Dean's right hand slid a little farther down, thumb rubbing over the inside of his wrist. "I…" Fuck, where _could_ he start? It was too big, too much information and telling _any_ of it was rough. "There was something, a few weeks ago." That seemed as good a place to start as any.

"So far you're not tellin' me anything I don't already know."

Sam laughed, short and nervous. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. But um…it's this thing I…it's kind of hard to explain."

"Well, I'm listening."

"I know why the fire started, why that thing came to our house in Lawrence." He bit his lip, hating the way he could _feel_ Dean's anticipation. "It was after me." Dean's hand tightened on his arm and he got as far as 'Sam, no-' before he cut him off. "Look, I _know_ I'm right, ok? This isn't me feeling guilty, here, this is…this is just how it was. It's a demon, his name's Azazel, and he wants to bring on the apocalypse." Which seemed to be zooming in their direction all of a sudden, 2009 already looming over him. "So he goes after these kids, and he gives them his blood to get them ready. Always 6 months, like me, and if he's interrupted, then he kills whoever saw him. In a fire on the ceiling."

"Look, wherever you heard this, if you tell dad-"

"Dad already knows, Dean. He knows, and I think he's known for a really long time, but thing is I um…" He bit his lip until he tasted iron. "Do you remember the night I didn't go to Standford?"

Dean's fingers tightened, encircling his wrist and for the first time, it made him feel worse rather than better. "Course I do, Sam. It was hell, and then…" _Then you came back._ It was clear in his eyes, in the air between them and everything he didn't say.

"See the thing is…" Fuck. He shifted, sitting forward and crossing his legs, finally moving enough to break Dean's grip even though Dean seemed reluctant to let him go. He linked his own hands together, pressed them hard against his lips as he thought. "Dean this…this is gonna sound crazy."

"At this point in my life I'm pretty sure there's nothin' you can tell me that sounds crazy."

"This will. It's…it's fuckin' crazy." Best way to do it from here on out was probably just to bite the bullet. "So um…I came back to that night. From the future. 8 years into it, honestly." Dean had to believe him on that, because everything else hinged on it.

First, Dean just blinked. "Like…seriously? The future?"

"Look, I told you it was crazy, but you gotta believe me-"

"Was it awesome? I mean like, flying cars and shit?" Dean was trying to smile, but he really just wasn't in the mood.

"Dammit, Dean, this is _serious_! I wouldn't be telling you any of this if I didn't-"

"Hey, ok, don't get so touchy! I believe you, just…lighten up a little. You know if you're tellin' me it's true, I'm gonna believe you no matter what, even if it's crazy, and this? Gotta tell you, Sam, this is all kinds of crazy. But if it's true, then…then ok." He took a deep breath, wiped the smirk off his face. "Ok, so…the future. How? And what for? And…are you still…I mean, was it like you just did it for one night or-"

"No, no it's…" Harder than he thought, and that was saying quite a bit. "The apocalypse was going on-"

"Whoa, _what_?!"

"Dean, just _listen!_" If he didn't get this all out, it'd take forever to explain every little piece of it. "It was the apocalypse, honestly the end of the world, and things were…they were bad. Seriously bad. So, I found a way to come back here, try and change things, fix a lot of times I fucked up." Even knowing he hadn't done it this time around, telling Dean he'd once left him wasn't something he'd ever really wanted to do. He looked up and met his eyes, watching as he said it. "Starting with the first big mistake I made."

Just like he'd thought, he could _see_ it, the way the hurt crept into his eyes until he shoved it back. If he hadn't still been half freaking out, that would have been enough to make him want to stop everything right there, to push Dean back on the floor and remind him just how badly he wanted to be _right there_ at his side, how much Dean was everything he could never lose.

"You left. Went to Stanford."

He cleared his throat, looked away as he nodded. "I did, yeah. And even though we ended up back together eventually, I screwed up a lot of other shit too. Not to mention, I never…we never…" He shook his head. "I was stupid enough to think it was just me, that you wouldn't want this. So we were never together, and it nearly drove me crazy a hundred times and you must've been thinking the same but neither one of us ever brought it up we just…kept goin'."

"So this…what're you tryin' to tell me here? Is this about the apocalypse or about us, Sammy?" Honestly, he sounded like he was afraid to know.

"Right now it's about neither, sort of. But in the long run, it was both." Right now just didn't seem like the time for Lucifer and Michael and demon blood and hell and…this much, this was more than enough. "Something happened that made me think that I was wrong to never try to make this right with us and the rest of it…it's really complicated."

"More complicated than springing the whole Marty McFly thing on me?" There was still something he couldn't place in Dean's voice, and he just barely kept himself from flinching. "I don't know, Sam. Pretty sure after that, I can keep up."

"Guess that's good, cause I'm not done." Not hardly, but he wasn't gonna go into anything but the basics just now. "Dean, I mean you-"

"Look, I believe you ok? I just…this is nuts, Sam, and I'm still tryin' to understand it but…just go, just finish, it's ok."

No, not really. "Everything I was tellin' you about Azazel, that's the important part. I have…demon blood." Even now a few years removed from it, it was fucking hard to say. "And I have these visions and…they almost always come true. Sometimes I can stop them. That's what the whole…everything a few weeks ago, that's what that was about. But right _now_, Dad's missing." Throwing it in at the ending like that, he'd hoped it wouldn't sound quite so horrifying.

With news like that, though, there was really no dampening it.

"Wait, _what_? What do you mean missing, are you sayin' you saw-"

"No, Dean, I'm sayin' I've called his phone 20 times and listened to what's nearly the same goddamn message he put up when he left you before." He could still hear it, could still remember the first time he'd listened it to just off of an airport runway. "He's gone after the demon, and he's doin' it alone cause he thinks he needs to protect us but it's dangerous, and we need to be with him. Only I thought when this happened I'd know where to find him because it'd happen the same way as before, but it's not…this is _months_ too early, and I'm guessing he left us because he's less worried about us together than he was about you alone and…" His words were running together, voice rising, and he cut himself off, hiding his face in his hands. "We need to go to Colorado first. Then Nebraska."

"What makes you think he's gonna be there? Is that where the demon is?"

"Dean, I don't know _where_ the fuck the demon is. That's why we're goin' to Nebraska, ok, we've got…we _will_ have some friends there, and I'm pretty sure that if we ask just the right way one of them'll help us with this. And Colorado because I need something that's there. Something we're gonna kill that son of a bitch with."

"Sam if dad's missing, shouldn't we try to find him first? I mean, this demon sounds serious and he's gonna need us there to watch his back. We can't let it surprise him."

Why the hell did this sound so familiar? Oh yeah, probably the thousand or so times he'd told Dean they needed to just strike out into the unknown, grasping at straws and looking for dad around every corner. Argument was a little different, but still. "He'll be where the demon is, trust me. And he doesn't want to be found. Quickest way to do this is just to figure out where the bastard's gonna be next and try and cut him off. He's going to homes again, giving his blood to the kids on the night of their 6 month birthday."

"Yeah, and that's another thing, can we-"

"No." Sure, he'd sort of been the one to start this conversation, but there was a point where it was gonna have to stop. He couldn't tell _everything_, certainly not all at once like that. This had been maddening enough as it was.

"Excuse me, 'no'? Sam, you're tellin' me you're from the future and this demon has some kind of top secret plan for you and-"

"Dean, _please_." He knew by the way Dean really _looked_ at him then that it was the tone of his voice that got him, pleading and so fucking desperate. Honestly, he hadn't even tried. "Can we _please_ not talk about this anymore? Just not right now, please, because Dean, I'm…I'm freaking out here, ok? This wasn't supposed to happen like this, and it just…" There weren't words. Because if this could change, so could everything else, and if this was any indication, that might not be as wholly good of an idea as he'd thought it would be. He'd known it wouldn't be perfect or easy sure, but this…this didn't look good.

Dean wiped a hand across his mouth, scraping at the stubble on his jaw. There were a million questions still in his eyes, and he got up and paced the room twice before he threw Sam's bag onto the bed behind him.

"Where?"

Sam was still in the process of trying to make himself get up off the floor. "Where what?"

"Where in Colorado? I gotta know where I'm going."

Thank God.

"Uh…Manning. I think. I'll know once I see it." Once they were there, then he'd cross the hurdle of explaining why the hell he was taking an antique gun from another hunter.

''''''''''''''''''''''

Dean gave him a good four hours before he questioned him again.

They were in the car and he was driving, and Dean let him think he was nearly asleep when he sprung it on him.

"So this whole 'back to the future' thing…seriously, what the hell, man? I mean, I feel like at this point we've heard of pretty much everything under the sun, and I don't know shit about this one."

"We haven't." Out of the corner of his eye he could feel Dean staring at him and he shifted his grip on the wheel, still staring straight out the windshield.

"Haven't what?"

"Heard of everything yet. We'll find out vampires are real next year. Or, maybe sooner, who knows." He could practically _feel_ from Dean's stare that no, he wasn't distracted. Sam cleared his throat, tried not to look like he was scrambling. "I had some help from this guy."

"This guy." Dean's voice was flat, sarcastic and a little irritated. "Wow, Sam, thanks, that clears it _right_ up."

"Will you shut up for a minute?" He sighed, bit his lip and tried to think faster. Obviously, he couldn't tell Dean the truth. If he could work this the way he wanted Dean wasn't going to know about the deal he'd made, _ever_. "There was this guy, Crowley, and he was into some really deep stuff, incredibly ancient rituals among other things. I mean, he has some _serious_ mojo, Dean. He was helping us out with the apocalypse, trying to help us kill the devil, and when things got really bad I told him my plan and he agreed it was worth a shot."

"Well, great, if he's that tough why don't we go to him now? Maybe he can help us kill this Azazel _and_ stop it all before it starts."

_Shit_. "Dunno where he is. He came to us. He keep s himself off the radar unless he wants to contact someone, no way in hell we'd ever be able to find him."

Dean was pretty quiet then, and Sam glanced over at him nervously, trying to gauge the look on his face as best he could from a couple stolen glances.

"Crowley, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Alright. Well, we should be on the lookout for him, then. If he wants to help us, maybe we'll hear from him or at least run into someone who has."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe, that's a good idea."

An even better one would be if Dean would just drop the whole damn subject.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;


	7. Chapter 7

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

All things considered, getting the Colt hadn't been too bad. Dean had been pretty quiet about most of it, and he'd been there to watch Sam's back while he cracked the safe to take the Colt and the case of remaining original bullets. He'd made sure Daniel was out, and he left him a note he wasn't sure he'd believe that next May, he should be ready for a coven of vampires.

They were about halfway to Nebraska when Dean pulled the car over on the side of the road, and Sam tried not to shrink into the floorboard.

"I lied."

Absolutely _not_ the start he was expecting for that conversation. His throat tightened. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, man, but you still don't believe me? Dean, if I didn't know what I was talking about-"

"Then how the hell could you have found the Colt, yeah, I know, that's not what I'm talkin' about. Even if you're crazy, and…well, who knows, but _I_ believe you. What I'm talkin' about…" He turned, threw one arm over the back of the bench seat so he was half facing Sam. "Was me sayin' I wouldn't push you to tell me anything you didn't want to. But I guess I lied about that, because seein' you like that the other day…Sam, I've never seen you like that. And you told me you'd explain, and then I get this big rambling story about how you know pretty much everything that's gonna happen for the forseeable future and how you wanted to come back and straighten everything out between us, and I'm not gonna say that wasn't good to hear, but nowhere in there did you _ever_ really tell me what the hell's goin' on with you." He tapped his left hand on the wheel, the sound loud in the silence. "And I guess I'm just not that patient; I'm sorry. So if this thing with us is _that_ important to you, then I need you to act like is and stop keepin' secrets from me, Sam, because if you-"

"I saw you." It hadn't been too hard for the panic to rise right back up. It had been there ever since dad had left a day or so before, bubbling under the surface, and hearing Dean give him anything that even sounded like an ultimatum, that was all the prodding he needed. Because honestly, even if he kind of hated himself for it there was a part of him underneath his desire to protect Dean that just wanted to tell him everything and collapse and find shelter from the weight.

"What do you mean?" Dean was quiet, soft and unaccusing.

"I mean…before, I had this girlfriend at Stanford. Jessica." It wasn't until after he'd said it that he'd thought about what kind of reaction that alone might get, and he wasn't wrong. Dean's hand had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white, and he couldn't see anything of it in his eyes, which meant the thought hurt him enough that he thought he needed to hide it. "She died in a fire on the ceiling. Just like mom, and I was seeing it for months before it happened. And the other night…the other night, it was you." Even remembering, the tears stung at his eyes. "And I can't…Dean, I can't even think about losing you, not now, not after the way everything's worked out."

"Did you love her?" Of course, that _would_ be the part he would latch onto.

Had he loved her? Even thinking about it now, the answer was still obvious. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, but Dean, she was never you. It wasn't the same, and if I'd thought for one minute I could really have everything I wanted with you, I'd have done it, I'd have taken the chance no matter what." Kind of like he had, in the end.

Dean nodded, still careful not to look at him all the way. "Yeah, ok."

"Dean?"

Dean shrugged, turned back to the wheel and put his hand over the keys in the ignition. "I dunno, I just…it's kinda one thing for you to tell me you left for Stanford and another for you tell me you…anyway, it doesn't matter, 's fine."

Clearly. Sam yanked his hand away from the ignition, staring him down when Dean glared at him. "Dean, c'mon. You started this conversation, you're not gonna just drive off and end it like that."

"Why not? I asked you a question, you answered it, think that means the conversation's over, Sam."

"Seriously? You're seriously more hung up on the fact that I was with someone else than the fact that I saw you _die_?"

Dean let out a hard breath, took a moment before he turned back around in the seat to face Sam again. "I'm not scared, no. Don't know why you thought I would be. This son of a bitch comes after me, that gives us the _perfect_ chance to get him, so I don't mind bein' the bait. The fact that it's drivin' you crazy, yeah, that means something, makes me want to kill him myself just a little bit more. But you know what, Sam?" Dean shook his head, a slight hollow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "The fact that you felt the need to _lie_ to me about all of this rather than tell me right after it happened? Yeah, that bothers me. Quite a bit, actually."

The words stabbed into him, knife edged and more perfectly aimed than Dean could've ever realized.

_The Sam I knew is gone. It's not the demon blood or the psychic crap. It's the little stuff. The lies. The secrets. _

He _hated_ lying to his brother, especially after the godawful mess it had contributed to before, but it seemed like there was just flat out no other way to handle some of this. Even trying to keep it to a minimum it was already hurting Dean, and if it started to drive a wedge between them years earlier than it had before, wouldn't that just be perfect?

"I just wanted to look after you…make sure it never happened at all. I figured you'd worry if I told you so…" He shrugged, at a loss.

"Case you haven't noticed, I've been worried."

Sam flinched, only springing into motion again when Dean's hand started back toward the ignition. He caught his wrist stopping him. "Dean, wait, about the other thing, what happened before-"

"Look, Sam, I told you it didn't-"

"I love you." The words rushed out in one breath, tumbling all over each other, and his hand tightened around Dean's wrist. "And I know that's obvious so I've never said it, because you've gotta already know I've loved you all my life, right? But what I mean is I seriously…" He took a breath, his words going a little weak. "You're everything. And that's always been true, I just…_know_ it a little more now. And I really-"

"I got it, Sammy. It's ok." Coming from anyone else it could've sounded like a dismissal, like he hadn't really heard at all, but he could hear the emotion thick in Dean's voice, and Dean reached over for him then, pulling him in for a kiss. Dean had always communicated better physically than verbally. Even when they were kids, his default response when Sam was scared had always been to step in front of him before he ever said anything to him, because what could possibly say more than putting himself between his brother and the threat, whether it was real or imagined? Sam had learned to read him then and perfected it over the years, taught himself to understand all the underlying meanings Dean made plain in his own way.

Like the way his hand was on Sam's jaw now, gentle and firm all at once. It spoke for his possession and reassurance, telling Sam that he _was_ Dean's, his little brother and so much more, and they were ok. He kissed him slow, tongue stroking against Sam's in a way that was more caressing than seductive. There was love there, pure and unmistakable, and Sam reached out and gripped the collar of Dean's jacket, holding on and pulling him a little closer.

When they pulled apart he didn't say anything at first beyond a whispered 'Sammy' against Sam's lips, and that was more than enough. Sam tilted his head forward to kiss him again, this time just a brush of their lips together that managed to be every bit as intimate as the first kiss had been.

Dean's fingers trailed through his hair, stroking, and his hand kneaded at the nape of Sam's neck, strong and warm and affectionate. With a last squeeze and a final soft kiss Dean let him go and turned back to the wheel, and this time, Sam let him. There was a _real_ smile on his face when he pulled back out onto the highway, something in his eyes lighter than Sam had seen them in weeks.

Even with everything hanging over them, right then Sam couldn't be afraid.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was harder than he'd thought, seeing Ellen and Jo. He wanted to wrap them both up in a hug the minute he saw them, to feel them real and alive and to tell them both how much he'd missed them, and not being able to do that was _damn_ hard.

It had to be enough just seeing them, knowing they were alright, and the way Ellen welcomed them put a smile on his face. They went through almost the same ordeal with her as before, but this time he was able to tell her for sure that dad hadn't sent them, that he'd found out about the roadhouse and Ash and they'd come of their own accord.

Ash had been just as helpful as Sam hoped he would be, and they were following the directions he'd laid out, heading toward Sandpoint, Idaho where demonic omens had cropped up over the past few days. Dean was just a little freer and easier than he had been since this all started, and he was driving with the windows down, a beer wedged up against the seat beside him with his jacket.

He turned the music up before he twisted his arm around to grab it, taking a long drink.

"You know, if a cop sees you doing that, he's probably gonna haul your ass to jail."

"Don't see any. Besides, I have this awesome brother who'll come get me." He flashed Sam a grin before he turned his attention back to the empty stretch of road ahead of them, wheel in his right hand with his left arm resting on the door.

"You do, huh? He might just say you deserved it."

"Oh he'd definitely say that. But he'd miss me."

Sam scooted closer and took a drink from Dean's beer, tasting the slightest hint of him on the rim. He draped his arm over the back of the seat, his fingertips brushing Dean's neck and smiling when Dean rolled his shoulders back and toward his touch.

"Guess you're right there. He would miss you."

They didn't stop for the night until nearly halfway across Montana and they ended up in an even cheaper motel room than usual, the light by the bed sporting a lampshade with what looked like a bloodstain on it. They turned it out and turned the TV on and watched baseball for awhile. Sam stretched out nearly diagonal across the bed, his head against Dean's chest, and he closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat, drank in the feel of the way Dean ran his fingers lazily through his hair.

In his head he could see flashes of Carthage, of a grocery store and Jo bleeding out, bearing the kind of wounds he was all too familiar with and had never wanted to see again. He took a deep breath, shifted against Dean's chest and wasn't exactly surprised when Dean's other arm came up around him, dropping the remote and draping over Sam's chest. The stroke of Dean's fingers through his hair stopped him, his thumb rubbing over Sam's temple.

"What is it, Sammy?" There was just the tiniest edge of tension in the words, just enough to show that he expected a real answer.

On this, Sam could give him one. He already knew enough anyway. He turned his head, looking straight up at the ceiling, eyes trailing over the cracks in the plaster. "Ellen and Jo and Ash? Where I came back from, they're all dead. And they were…they're good friends. It's just…it's weird, you know? Seeing them like this, now, knowing what happened…"

"I bet it is." He could feel the vibration of Dean's voice against his back, all low and familiar. "But isn't that kind of what this was about? Makin' sure that stuff doesn't happen?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Dean's hand rubbed absently over his chest, rolling a fraying string between his fingers. "The apocalypse…how the hell does that happen? When?"

"Not for a long time." Relatively speaking. "And I think maybe we can stop it anyway." He didn't say any more, and Dean actually seemed alright with that. He sat up just a little farther against the headboard, pulling Sam with him, and they watched the Orioles play the Mariners until they both fell asleep with the TV on.

When he had the vision that time he tried to sit up gasping, his body shaking, but Dean wouldn't let go. He sat up all the way and pulled Sam back against his chest between the vee of his legs, arms wrapped tight around him, and he held him close and whispered soft and low in his ear until the last of the panic had cleared itself away.

Dean kissed over his pulse, his lips dry and warm from sleep. "It's alright, Sammy. 'M not goin' anywhere."

Sam had to believe that, because if this had all been for nothing, hell would be irrelevant. If he got Dean killed by doing this, he'd turn himself over into their hands to do whatever they wanted with him.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"So we're _sure_ it's this house?"

"Yes." For the millionth time, Sam checked that the Colt was loaded. "I saw the view from Cody's window out to the lake."

Dean sighed, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you've been right on every weird little detail so far so I'm not doubting your freaky powers it's just…these people are rich, dude. Like, 'major security system' kind of rich."

"I know. We're just…I don't know, Dean, but we're gonna have to get in there." And Dean was right, that wasn't gonna be an easy task. This was lake front property, _huge_ lakefront property. This house alone probably cost over a million dollars, and picking the lock and breaking in here wasn't gonna be any walk in the park. He'd seen this happen though, had seen what looked like the kid's older sister burning in a fire on the ceiling. He was damn well not gonna let that happen, even if it did get them arrested. Waiting in the car was torture, but considering they were gonna have to seriously just break in, waiting until the last minute was really their only option here.

It was 2 AM when Dean saw movement in the kid's room, and they bolted. Dean headed for the front door but Sam took the window, crashing through it with a cement flowerpot on the corner of the porch. He clambered through, cutting his arm on the glass, and he heard Dean hit the back of the couch as he vaulted in just behind him. There was an alarm sounding even as they ran up the stairs, and at the top the girl he'd seen burn was just coming out of her room, looking bewildered. She was maybe 16 or 17, and when she saw them her eyes flickered between abject terror and fury. She darted toward her brother's room and Dean's hand shot out, yanking her away and clamping his hand over her mouth.

"it's ok. It's ok, I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear, we're not here to hurt you." She was flailing against him, not listening, and upstairs they could hear the parents stirring. Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder, pushing him toward the stairs.

"Go. Get her out of here."

"Sammy-"

"Go!"

He kicked in the door, burst in just in time to see Azazel turning back over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed yellow in the low light, and Sam's stomach turned as he caught a glimpse of a drop of blood dripping from his wrist. He was too late.

The shock froze him for just a second too long, and by the time he fired Azazel was already dissipating into mist just like before, just like his first goddamn attempt at the bastard in that house in Salvation. The ceiling burst into flames, the air sucked up toward it as the wood paneling started to blaze. He almost threw the gun at the spot where Yellow Eyes had disappeared, but the realization that this was the _Colt_ and he couldn't be irrational and dramatic and stupid stopped him. He shoved it in the back of his jeans, ran forward to snatch Cody up, holding him tight against his chest. There was blood on his lips, and Sam wiped it away with the cuff of his jacket, swallowed back the rage that threatened to rip free from his chest.

He nearly collided with the mother on his way out into the hall, and as soon as she realized what he was holding she snatched her child from his arms. "How _dare_ you touch him, you-"

"M'am, no, I'm sorry, I was _saving_ him, the fire-"

"Carrie, we've gotta go!" Her husband pulled her back, his eyes on the fire that was spreading across the nursery ceiling, flames licking out into the hall. Sam could feel the heat at his back, and a handful of memories warred in his head as he ran down the stairs.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can, now Dean, go!_

Dean had told him the story enough times now that he could almost see it, the way Dean would've held him close, green eyes wide and frightened as he stood out in the yard and watched their home burn. He burst out the front door only to find Dean right there, coming out behind him, hands fisting in his jacket. He'd apparently left the girl out on the lawn and come back in, only to see Sam coming down. They made it down the steps, and Sam stopped just long enough to make sure the family was all together and safe and not about to try and kill them. The girl was saying she'd heard something in her brother's room before the alarm ever went off, and Sam stalked off and left them talking, feeling Dean follow right behind him.

"Did you-"

"_NO_." No, he hadn't gotten him. He'd been stupid, gotten distracted for a split second and hesitated, and that had been all it had taken. Now he'd not only missed the shot he'd wasted a goddamn bullet, and these were _all_ they were gonna have because it sure as hell wasn't gonna be fixed by Ruby this time around. He was furious, and he stalked past the car, punched the pine tree beside it _hard_, felt the bark crack and his fingers ache.

"Whoa, hey, Sam-"

"I had him!" He slammed his fist into the tree again, ignored the way the sharp cracked edges dug into his skin. "I fucking had him." Dean yanked his arms back, hauling him away from the tree and spinning him around, pinning him up against it.

"Stop it, dammit, ok? Just stop it." They were both breathing hard, Dean's arm pressed hard against his chest. He could feel the adrenaline fading into a more subdued, angry despair. "Sam, you tried. Hell, we were _close_, and that's something, right? We'll get him. I know we will."

He wanted to have that kind of faith, but he _remembered_, he remembered all too fucking well, and he could still see the last time he'd missed. He swallowed hard, knocked his head back against the tree only to have Dean's hand come up and tangle in his hair, holding him still.

"I'm not gonna let you blame yourself for this. I'm _not_. We made it here, we _tried_. I don't care what you know, no one could've asked more from you than that. Ok?"

He took a deep breath, pushed against Dean's chest. "We should go."

Dean held him there just a little longer, his eyes trying to catch Sam's, but when Sam stubbornly refused to look him in the eye he finally realized he was fighting a losing battle and he let go, stepping back and straightening Sam's jacket.

"Yeah. Come on; I'll drive."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"How the hell'd you do this?"

"Window, on the way in. Jacket sleeve got pushed up I guess."

Dean swabbed at the edges of the cut gently with a cotton ball doused in alcohol, his movements slowing just a little when Sam hissed. "Sorry, Sammy."

" 's ok."

Dean pulled Sam's arm a little closer, resting it against his thigh as he pulled out the needle and suture, ready to stitch up the jagged cut on the back side of his right wrist.

"You're damn lucky, you know that? If you'd had your arm turned the other way, this coulda been a hell of a lot more serious."

"Yeah, I'm a lucky guy; it's all rainbows and puppies for me."

Dean stopped, eyebrows raising as he looked up at his brother. "Cut it out, Sam."

"Really? Dean, I'm the reason that kid is gonna have a shitty life, the reason that family's gonna be wondering what the hell happened tonight for _years_!"

"No you're not! Sam, that demon, those things are on _him_, not you! That bastard's the only one to blame here. You didn't do anything other than try to help them."

"Yeah, and a lot of good that did them! I didn't stop it!" He reached his free hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the way his head was throbbing. His voice dropped, softening. "We didn't even find dad; I'm not sure he's even in town."

Dean cupped his hand behind Sam's head, pulling him forward and kissing the top of his head. He could feel Dean's breath against him, and it steadied him the way it always did. "We're gonna find dad, Sam, ok? We're gonna find him, and we're gonna get this son of a bitch, and this was just the first try. It's not your fault it didn't work." He pulled back, dipped his head to meet Sam's eyes and let the look in his own say everything else.

_Stop worrying._

He couldn't manage all the way, but he could let Dean think he had, at least a little. He nodded slightly and Dean eased off, focusing back on the gash on his arm. "You gonna let me take care of this now so we can get some sleep?"

"Yeah. Ok."

Dean shuffled a little closer, shoulders hunching as he leaned in to work. "Well then hold still."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Dean, I still think-"

"I don't care! Dammit, Sam, I already told you, the answer's no, ok? Just no!" Dean stared him down over the hood of the Impala, the look in his eyes brooking no argument. "Look, you already told me everything about how this went, you _really_ think I'm just gonna let you walk in there with some psycho by yourself?"

"Dean, I understand, you're worried, but this kid, we have this in common. He's gonna respond better to me than you and that's just the truth, so it seems to stand to reason that I've got a better chance of getting him to listen to me if I talk to him alone."

"And you also said we need to convince him you're the same, tell him about the fire. Out of the two of us, who witnessed that exactly?"

"Dean-"

"I am not letting you go in there by yourself; I'm sorry. I'll let you do most of the talking, but I'm goin' and that's all there is to it." He shook his head, waited a breath for Sam to push back again, and when he didn't right away Dean slapped his hand on top of the hood and turned toward the house. "C'mon. Let's go talk to psychic boy."

Sam huffed, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster around the front of the car, catching up with Dean just before he hit the sidewalk. "Wish you wouldn't do that, you know."

"Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but I'm gonna be lookin' out for you for the rest of my life. That's just how it is."

"No, not that. I don't mind that." In fact, if he had to be honest with himself he was incredibly grateful for that, but that was kind of beside the point. "The whole…psychic boy thing. I mean, I get it, you think I'm freak but do you have to bring it up all the time? I mean couldn't you just…I don't know. Forget it."

Dean stopped short just in front of the steps, and he reached out and caught Sam's arm to stop him too. There was honest concern in his eyes, and Sam wished he just hadn't said anything. "Look, Sam, this whole thing, it's really the 'over my head' kind of crazy, but-"

"I know, Dean, forget I-"

Dean's voice rose, overriding him. "-I would never think you're a freak or something, ok? I mean, you _are_ a freak." He smiled, his hand coming up to grip the back of Sam's neck. "But not like _that_. You're just…Sammy. Same kind of freak you've always been." He stepped in closer, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against Sam's neck. "I don't think there's anything _wrong_ with you, Sam, I swear I don't. And if that's what you've thought, then I'm sorry."

"Are you sure? Because before you said-"

"Really? Really, Sam?" He let go, his hands spreading out wide. "Because I don't remember that! So tell me, is this gonna happen all the time? Because I gotta be honest, I think it makes about as much sense as us fightin' over something I said in a dream you had last night, because even though this might've _happened_, it didn't happen to _me_. _I_ never said that to you, and I don't feel that way about it at all, so it's really pointless of you to go blaming _me_ for stuff that I've never done. I mean…" He shrugged, rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "If you're gonna get mad at me about something, at least make it something I can remember. I'm pretty sure I've managed to say a few shitty things to you before but at least if I knew what you were talking about, I could-"

"Dean, no, I…" Honestly, he didn't really know what to say. The response to what Dean had said had been instinctive because it _hurt_, and considering that in general he was more open with him this time around, it had been a little easier to say it. Now that he thought of it, though, Dean was right. He was learning all the time that this timeline really _was_ distinct and independent now from the other, and if he kept comparing 'versions' of Dean, _his_ Dean that he had now was only gonna be upset by it. And, rightly so. He _hadn't_ said the things to Sam that Dean had before, and he didn't deserve to be treated like he was going to inevitably say them. Knowing that and putting it into practice, though, was probably gonna be a little harder. "Dean, you're right. And I'm sorry. I'll…try to stop comparing you. I can't promise I won't, but I'll try, alright?"

Dean nodded, and though the set of his shoulders still looked a little angry they eased when Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. Iit was all Sam could do not to lean down and kiss him, but considering they were getting ready to go in and tell Max they were brothers, that probably wasn't the best idea.

Instead he settled for the hand on Dean's shoulder, and he smiled for him before he pulled away. "Ok then." Hopefully, it'd stay that way. Dean thinking of him as a monster had been one of those things he'd never been able to bear. He jogged up the steps and rang the doorbell, his hands back in his pockets by the time Dean stepped up behind him and Mrs. Miller opened the door.

Sam turned on his brightest smile, pouring out the charm. "Hi, Mrs. Miller, is Max here?"

She dusted her hands off on her apron, looking a little confused. "Yes he is, can I ask who's asking?"

"Oh of course, sorry, I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean, we work with Max at Office Depot."

"Alright, well…come on in." She smiled, the expression only a little off. "I'm sorry, Max didn't mention having friends coming over."

"Oh, he's not expecting us. We'd just like to go up and talk to him about a couple scheduling things, a party we're throwing after work next week, stuff like that." Dean smiled for her, giving her that look Sam knew from experience could melt pretty much anyone. "His room's upstairs?"

"Yes. First door on the right, boys."

"Thank you, ma'm."

Sam nearly took the stairs two at a time, trying his best to keep his heart from racing in his chest. It didn't work. This was sort of his first _real_ test, because if he could keep Max from flipping all the way off the deep end and killing his family, then maybe there was hope for some of the other kids, too. Sam knocked, held his breath while he waited for an answer.

"Go away."

Their eyes met, Dean's eyebrows rising. Sam shuffled in closer to the door, talking near the gap. "Max, we just came to talk to you about something. Do you have a second?"

Apparently, he'd been right in assuming Max thought it was his dad at the door. He yanked it open, scrutinizing them the minute he saw them. "Who are you?"

Well for one thing, someone who wished he'd keep his voice down so his mom couldn't hear. Sam tried to scoot in closer to the door without looking threatening. "We're just a couple people who know something about what's been going on with you lately, and we'd like to talk." Max's eyes were narrowing, and Sam hurried to elaborate. "You know…the stuff you can do. Your powers, they're getting stronger, aren't they?"

For a second, Max almost looked frightened, but he was quick to step back and let them in, shutting the door behind them. "Like I said, who the _hell_ are you?"

"I'm Sam, this is Dean. We're here to help." Fuck, he realized how stupid it sounded, how little he had to offer this kid that had been abused all his life, but they had a kinship he couldn't ignore and he couldn't just let Max go without trying, wouldn't have been able to even if it had only been himself he'd taken out and not half his family. "When you were little, there was a fire in your nursery wasn't there?"

Max circled away from them to stand behind his computer chair, his hands tightening hard on the top wooden rung. "How the _fuck_ do you know about that?"

"Because the same thing happened to me, Max! I was 6 months old, and there was a fire, and our mom…" Just like always, he looked to Dean for reassurance.

Dean picked it up smoothly, hardly a beat missed. "She died in a fire on the ceiling. And that's what your dad says about your mom, isn't it? Only you've never believed him, you just think he's crazy."

"He _is_ crazy. You don't know him, you don't know what he-"

"I know he beats you to hell." Max froze, and Sam softened his voice, coaxing and understanding all at once. "I know there's no excuse for the things he's done to you, and I'm sorry, but that's no reason to kill him, and I know that's what you're planning to do as soon as you can. I just…we're not here to say we're gonna tell anyone cause we're not. I just wanted to come tell you there's another way. You don't have to be part of any of this."

Max's hands flexed around the wood, his eyes flickered nervously before they settled on his desk. He swallowed hard, his eyes focusing in on a coffee cup on the corner that began to shake, rising trembling into the air and hovering before it was set back down heavily on the desk. "I'm getting better. I couldn't do more than make it twitch a few weeks ago." His gaze leveled on Sam, cold and more than a little dangerous. "How much can you do?"

"No, nothing like that. I have visions; I see things before they happen." He hesitated, then decided to just go for it. "Max, I saw you kill your dad, and your uncle, and your mother, and then yourself. Y ou don't wanna do that, man. You don't have to. You can do _better_ than that, Max, I promise."

He laughed, short and angry. "How? You know, you say you know what I've been through, but _how_ could you know? How could you know how it feels to know your dad has _hated_ you since you were a baby?"

"I don't know, Max. I don't know, and I'm sorry you do, but this isn't the answer. It's not." Max was breathing harder, tears forming at the corners of his eyes and Sam stepped forward, conscious of the way Dean moved with him. His mouth was already open to speak when Max cut him off.

"What happened to us?"

Bit of a dicey question. He didn't want to give him information that would send him running straight to Azazel so he could become another Ava, but it was hard to say nothing to him either. "I don't know much. Just that whatever it was, something's gonna wanna use us, twist these powers around on us and make us use them when we shouldn't. And we can't let that happen, none of us can."

"There's more?"

"Lots more, I don't even know." He almost reached out to him, pulled his hand back when Max recoiled. "Listen, come with us. We can help you find a place, get on your feet. You just need to get out of here, that's all. Just forget he exists. I know you think it's not right him even getting to live after everything he's done, but think about it…the bastard's not worth it, Max, he's not. Leaving and leaving him alive? That'll be more a kick in the face than killing him ever could be."

There were footsteps on the stairs then and they all jerked, Max most of all. Seconds later there was a knock on the door, soft and questioning. "Honey? Are your friends staying for dinner?"

"No. They were just leaving." His eyes met Sam's as he said it, defiant and unrelenting, though his voice wavered a little. If his mother noticed, she didn't say anything. Then again, she was apparently very good at looking the other way.

"Max, I-"

"I've heard enough."

Dean's hand gripped at his arm, pulling him back. "You heard him. C'mon, Sam." If he'd wanted this to go a little more smoothly, he probably shouldn't have told Dean about just how crazy and violent this kid could get. Really though, right now there wasn't much danger. That was all gonna come later. Still, it was clear there was no talking to him right now, and after a last look the turned around, following Dean down the stairs.

They hung around town trying to think of a better way to approach him, but it didn't do any good. He jumped off a bridge on the north end of town two days later.

For Sam, it was then that the real fear set in.

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	8. Chapter 8

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After Max, he should've just left the others alone.

They tried with Ava first, and that ended in her tragic death in a car accident. Scott Carey was next, and after his death in a house fire of all things Dean tried to carefully point out that maybe there were things that were constants even if the mode didn't stay the same, things Sam couldn't change. That was exactly what he _hadn't_ wanted to hear, and he'd tried to brush it off, but he hadn't felt confident enough to go after Andy or anyone else just yet.

For the time being he was researching, trying to compile a list of possible names based on towns dad's research told him the demon had visited in the past. It was maddening though, and absolutely impossible. He'd been able to _find_ the day the demon was in Scott's hometown, but what he hadn't been able to determine was any discernible reason _why_ Scott had been chosen. He'd been hoping for something, some kind of pattern but from what Dean had told him before, the fact that there wasn't one made sense. If the demon had any rhyme or reason to who he was choosing, it seemed to be only in his own head.

Trying to _find_ reason in it had kept Sam pretty well occupied in every spare moment between hunts, though, and he knew Dean was worrying by the way he'd started to hover just a little more, going out and getting food himself even when Sam had already said he'd do it later, shoving salads and all kinds of other things he called 'Sam food' at him and trying to get him interested in research for whatever hunt he'd recently dug up instead.

For the most part, it hadn't worked. He was too afraid that Dean was right, too afraid that this was proving that no matter what he did, there were some things he couldn't prevent, and _that_ was an option he couldn't even consider, because there was no way of knowing just _what_ those inevitable things were.

The TV cut on loud just then and Sam jumped, looking back from his work when the sound of an over exaggerated moan reached his ears. Dean was on the bed, stretched back with one hand just under the hem of his shirt and Sam rolled his eyes. "Really, Dean? Now seems like a good time for _porn_ to you?"

"Hell yes. Nearly always a good time for porn, not to mention, I'm bored as hell since you've been buried in that computer since the asscrack of dawn." He sat the remote down on the other side of the bed, and he unfastened his belt deliberately slow, looking over at Sam out of the corner of his eyes. "It's pretty damn useful considering I'm gonna have to do this myself."

"Really? Are you whining that I'm _ignoring _you? Are we four now?" He was _not_ going to rise to the bait. Absolutely not. He'd just been a little preoccupied lately, and as soon as he got a better idea of what the demon was looking for he'd…

Well, he couldn't help but be at least _distracted_. Dean had his jeans open, fisting his cock with one hand and turning up the volume with the other.

Sam shifted, gave the screen a disgusted glance. "C'mon, why would you even bother to turn it up? _Nothing_ about that sounds real."

"You ever listen to yourself? You make some pretty crazy sounds, buddy."

"Look who's talking."

"Shh. 'M tryin' to pay attention." The camera zoomed in, giving a close up of the first girl leaning forward, letting the man below her suckle at her breast. Dean's breath hitched, and even though he was desperately trying _not_ to watch Sam could see his hand move just a little bit faster. "Not too bad, is she?"

"She looks plastic."

"Are you seriously jealous of random porn chick? Really, Sam?"

Maybe. Even knowing Dean had to still surf porn every once in awhile because that's just who Dean was, there was a difference in knowing that and in seeing him get hard over it when Sam was _right there_. Of course in his head the fact that Dean was only doing it to rile him up made no difference.

The camera angle changed, shifting to watch the second girl tongue at the entrance of the first, a dildo ready in her hand. Dean's breath went rapid, his neck arching a little, and that was almost enough to break Sam's resolve on its own. What _did_, though, was the fact that when he looked over at Dean his eyes were closed, and when he flexed his hand around his cock a soft 'Sammy…' slipped from his lips.

Yeah, Sam was gone. Honestly, he'd been fighting a losing battle all along. He slammed the computer shut, crossed the room and climbed onto the bed to press right up against Dean, growling as he bent his head to nip at his neck. He felt more the heard Dean's soft laugh and he bit down a little harder.

" 'Bout time. Knew you couldn't hold out."

"You were doing it wrong." Sam mumbled against his skin, soothed the bite mark with his tongue as his hand went to Dean's lap, intertwining their fingers together so he could change the pace of Dean's strokes.

"I was 'doing it wrong'? Think I've been doing this a lot longer than, you, Sam, so I'm not sure how there can be a 'wrong' way of jacking off." Dean turned his head, catching Sam's lips in a kiss and sucking eagerly at this tongue. Sam let him, and he focused on the movement of their hands, slowing down to a torturous pace he knew Dean honestly liked far better than short and fast. He squeezed gently at the base, and at the top of his next stroke he teased at the slit, feeling moisture bead up under the pad of his finger. His efforts were rewarded with a soft moan, and when he stopped Dean's hips jerked up against his hand.

He broke the kiss but kept them close together, Dean's breath hot against his wet lips. "Oh really? So I was wrong; you _don't_ like this better. I guess I should just stop and let you handle it then." He twisted his hand, slow, grinning when he could feel Dean leaking against his wrist.

"Son of a bitch. Don't you dare." He turned his head, burrowing his face into Sam's neck as he moaned quietly. "Oh, God, Sam, please…just keep…just like…" He trailed off, panting as Sam put just the right amount of pressure just under the crown. Now that he thought about it it _had _been a few days since they'd had sex, and he was pretty sure that in just a few seconds, he could speed up and have Dean shooting hard across his fingers.

Sam curled against him a little tighter, his lips next to Dean's ear. "Is that good, Dean? Like this?" He tightened his grip, kept their fingers intertwined and didn't let Dean pull his own hand away. It was always better when they did it together. Dean's hips were working up constantly into his hand now, and when he sucked lightly at Dean's earlobe his body shuddered and pressed closer.

"_Sammy_."

"I know." He picked up the pace then, quick but still firm enough to give him the friction he liked, and Sam groaned at the feel of Dean pulsing in his hand, his lips pressing a series of kisses against Sam's neck. Finished, he helped tuck Dean back into his jeans, and he responded eagerly when Dean turned his head for a kiss. The way Dean tasted on his tongue was something he could never get enough of, not in a million years.

Dean reached over, cupping his hand over him through the front of his jeans and Sam groaned, pushing up into the touch. Dean smirked, rubbed his thumb teasingly slow over Sam's zipper. "You gotta admit, this is totally worth the distraction."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe? I'm offended." Dean kissed him slow, sucking on his lip until Sam's hips bucked up into his hand again. "That's better." When he pulled back, Sam could see the teasing fading from his eyes, nothing but honesty behind it. "Seriously, Sam, you need to lighten up. I know-" Sam had been about to try to explain _again_ just _why_ he was freaking out but Dean cut him off, his hand coming to cover his mouth. "Quiet for a minute. I know what you're talkin' about, believe me man, I do. Even if I don't know everything, I know there's a lot about what happened that scares you, and that's enough to freak me out too. But you can't do this, Sam. You're gonna run yourself into the ground or drive yourself crazy and it's _just_ _not worth it_. We need to let this go right now, ok? Stop worrying about them, get back on the demon. I mean, this isn't workin'. Let's forget about it for right now, go for something that will, ok?"

At this point, it made about as much sense as anything else. He hated the thought of giving up on them, but Dean was right. He'd gotten nowhere, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten Ava and Scott killed by meddling. He nodded, still a little reluctant, and Dean replaced the hand over Sam's mouth with a kiss.

"Alright then. Stop worryin' about it for now. Relax."

Sam laughed a little at that, his head tilting back as Dean rubbed over the outside of jeans again. "Little hard to do that right now."

"Well, then let me help you."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam slammed the trunk of the Impala, all the bags hefted across one shoulder. Dean was at the front desk pumping the pretty blonde for information while he was stuck carting all their crap inside by himself. Of course it wasn't like there was that much of it, and they needed to know their way around town, but still. Granted, the fact that he'd seen her looking at the way Dean's jeans hugged his ass probably hadn't helped how Sam felt about the whole situation. No one else had any right to be staring at Dean's ass, _especially_ not stupid barely legal cheerleader wannabes.

Later, he could be as ridiculously possessive about it as he wanted. Maybe he'd get Dean on his hands and knees, come up behind him and suck a mark onto him there, branding what was his. Yeah, that sounded nice.

He cocked his shoulder to the side so the bags wouldn't fall off, and he slide the key card in and pushed down on the handle. The first couple times it obstinately didn't work, but the third time it clicked open, and he shoved it open wide so he could step in and drop the bags on the floor.

The minute he got a good look at the room, his heart dropped right along with them.

The stupid flowers on the comforter. The cracked white alarm clock. The maroon paint. The goddamn motherfucking sickeningly white _ceiling_. Just like that, every rational thought went out the window. He dropped to one knee and yanked the weapons bag open, tugging the Colt out and pulling it open, spinning the cylinder to check obsessively for bullets. All four, still there.

When Dean came in the door he was still holding it in his hand, tense as a frightened deer.

"Okay, so Cindy at the desk said- Sam?"

"It's here." God, his voice sounded more wrecked than even _he'd_ thought it would be. "It's here, Dean. Tonight."

Dean's smile vanished, and he tossed the keys and the papers he'd been holding in his hand onto the table by the door. He was right there in a heartbeat, his hands framing Sam's face. "Ok. It's ok. Look at me, it's ok." He was steady, unafraid. Sam was fucking terrified. "We just won't go to sleep, ok? We'll sit up, wait on the son of a bitch." Sam couldn't unglue his throat. It seemed that after he'd gotten the first few words out, no more would come. Dean brought one hand down to tighten in his shirt, shaking him lightly. "C'mon, Sammy, this is our chance! Fucker's gonna come right to us!"

"I don't want it like this. I don't care if it brings him here, I'd rather we never found him if this…" He choked on the words, on the _thought_, and Dean tried to calm him, pulling him down for a kiss.

"It's ok. I know, but we're gonna be ok. Like I said, we know how to do this. We just can't let him catch us off guard, alright? Where's the salt?" Over Dean's shoulder he could the see the bed closest to bathroom, the one they'd been sleeping in. He could see the exact spot where Dean burned, pinned to the ceiling and helpless. Dean shook him a little harder. "Sammy, the salt?"

He shook himself, forced himself to focus. "Uh, right there. Second bag."

"Right." Dean bent over, rifled around in the bag until he came up with a hefty bag of salt. He lined the window and the door, and Sam recovered enough to pick up the bag when he put it down and lay another one behind it, creating a double line. If something happened and the first got breached by wind or water or something…he wasn't about to take any damn chances.

As soon as he finished with that he settled in against the headboard of the bed, Dean beside him, and he waited.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Wish he'd show up already."

"Don't say that."

Dean sighed heavily, shifted a little more of his weight against Sam's shoulder. It felt good, comforting, and Sam briefly shifted the gun to his left hand so he could lean over for a kiss, his hand against Dean's cheek.

It was around 3 AM, and there'd been no sign of Azazel yet. No sign of anything whatsoever, honestly. The motel complex was deathly quiet. In fact, it had been well over an hour since they heard any signs of life at all. Sam turned the Colt over in his hands, studying the words on the barrel. _Non timebo mala_. He had to wonder if it was there as a way to put the weight of God behind the weapon, or if it just served to remind the bearer the power they held in their hands, the fact that with _this_, they should fear nearly nothing. Even this, though, couldn't take away his fear. No matter how hard he pushed it back it still there, wrapping around his lungs, constricting his breath.

Dean elbowed him, only half forceful. "Will you quit lookin' at that? You look like a serial killer, man."

"Sorry." He leaned his head back against the wall, watching the door.

"Hell, Sam, he may not even be comin'."

At first, Sam couldn't think that was too likely, but the more time stretched on the more he started to wonder it himself, and when light started to crack through the curtains, he could feel a little bit of the clenching fear in his chest ease. Dean patted him on the thigh before he practically jumped out of bed, stretching.

"Looks like you were wrong, Sammy."

But that wasn't it, it _couldn't_ be. He'd changed things before, sure, but he'd never been _wrong_. Not once. "We have to wait a little longer." Honestly, he wasn't quite sure why he said it, other than this almost undefined sinking feeling he just couldn't shake. He'd never been all the way wrong, and it didn't seem possible that he could be now. There was something else going on here, and he had to still be coming. They needed to keep waiting.

"Sam…" Dean shook his head, gesturing over toward the door. "We came here cause of the omens. Obviously, he's either left or he's zeroing in on someone else, and if that's the case we need to start looking around this town so we can help them! Not to mention, if dad's here, this isn't the biggest town in the world; we might could actually find him!"

"You said it yourself, he doesn't want to be found, not yet, cause we've been tryin'. And Dean, I just…" He could hardly place it himself, much less put it into words. "I just don't think he's done here."

"Ok, so we get the hell outta Dodge! Sam…" Frustrated, Dean sat back down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't see how _any_ of this adds up to us staying here. I really don't."

"Just…just in case. A couple more days?" Because if they left here, where he was ready, and went somewhere else where he wasn't and Azazel changed things and came after Dean there, he'd never forgive himself. At least, that seemed to be the forerunning reason in his head at the moment.

Dean sighed, and though he shook his head Sam could tell he'd already won. "Yeah, ok. A couple days. But if we're staying here, I'm gonna go out and get us some food first."

Sam leapt to his feet, his fingers tightening on the gun. "I'll come with you."

Dean stared at him, incredulous, halfway through shrugging on his jacket. "Sam, I'm not helpless, I can go to the damn vending machine by myself."

"I know, I just…please."

Even if he wanted to, Dean could pretty much never turn him down when he pleaded with him like that.

"You're gonna have to get over this." Even muttering it under his breath, he was already tossing Sam his jacket as he swiped the keys off the table with his other hand. "C'mon, bitch. If you're comin', we're going out for real food."

Sam caught up, bumped his shoulder as they went through the door. "Jerk."

Outside the sun was still rising over the fields across the road, a golden glow that just topped the tall grass. None of it looked half as menacing as it seemed like this place should have.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Would you stop pacing?"

Dean grimaced and sat back down on the bed, slumping back beside Sam. "Can't help it. This is boring as hell, you know that right? I think he's gone, Sam, I think he changed his mind or something."

Honestly, Sam was kind of starting to wonder that too. Azazel had more than enough self preservation instinct to keep himself the hell away from the Colt unless he felt like he could take it from whoever had it, and considering Sam knew he was gonna show up, he _didn't_ have the upper hand here.

He really didn't know what to think. This was the third night they'd spent here and there hadn't been jack squat happen. Nothing, not even any more omens in the town so far as they'd been able to see from the weather patterns. It just didn't make sense, and even though he was about ready to concede Dean was probably right, it _still_ weirded him out. He'd been able to change things in his visions, sure, and he'd been able to change the things in Ava's, but to avoid them entirely? As far as he knew, that had _never_ happened. It was frustrating as hell, because as much as he hadn't wanted anything remotely close to this one to come true, he hadn't wanted it to vanish this unsettlingly either.

Dean was flipping through the channels, spending about 30 seconds on each, and Sam let his head rest back against the wall, watching without really paying any attention. If nothing happened tonight, he was gonna have to concede that Dean was probably right, even if the thought of that could mean worried him more than he cared to admit.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam's eyes snapped open when the TV went off.

Dean wasn't next to him anymore and he jerked, yanking the Colt into his hands as his eyes darted up to the ceiling, his stomach lurching. It was empty.

"Hello, Sam."

He whirled toward the voice, gun leveled, and he fired before he even got a good look at where he stood. Azazel waved his hand, and the bullet turned to water, the gun in his hands suddenly neon pink plastic. He threw it down, leaping to his feet and ready to throw himself at the fucking bastard if he needed to. "Where's Dean?"

"Sam, if you'd just-"

"Where the hell is my brother?"

"Asleep!" Azazel's voice rose just enough to cut through Sam's panic, and he chuckled as he turned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. "Just like you are. Geez, kid, here I was thinking I could be proud of how smart you've turned out, then you go and disappoint me with something like that."

_A dream_. It was just a fucking dream. Which meant he'd screwed up and gone to sleep in _that_ room, with Dean right there beside him. He was an idiot. His hands clenched, painfully tight. "You can't have him. I won't let you take him from me."

"Relax, Sammy. I'm _here_, in your head. Obviously, that means I can't be _there_." Honestly, Sam was never absolutely clear on _what_ all he could do, beyond that he was a powerful son of a bitch. Azazel pushed off from the wall, strolling closer to him. "You know, I really gotta hand it to you, Sam. I mean, I was convinced that killing Dean was my only option here. You were so attached that I thought it was gonna be a serious problem later on, but _then_ went you all crazy and went and got the gun…" He shook his head, his smile wide. "That was a real shining moment for you there. You've been on edge, and I _like_ that. Enough to say…" He shrugged, still smiling. "To hell with it, figuratively speaking."

"What are you talking about?" God, he wanted to hit him. Even if it wouldn't do any good.

"I'm saying that it seems looking after Dean brings out a little bit of me in you, and I _like_ that. So I'm gonna let you keep him. And also, I'm not an idiot. You with that gun, _trigger_ happy…well, like I said. Not an idiot. But Sam…" His eyes glowed just a little brighter, and he came almost over to where Sam stood at the foot of the bed. "You realize, don't you, that there's a big difference in Dean _knowing_ you have demon blood, and in seeing its effects. The minute you start to _use_ that power-"

"I'm not going to. Not ever, not once." He shoved the words out between his teeth, his jaw rigid.

"Well, maybe you say that now. We'll see. I'm just warning you…he might not always look at you the same. After all, we both know just how well he's been trained to hunt _monsters_, hm?"

_If you know what you're doing then that's even worse! It's not something you're doing it's…something you are!_

Sam swallowed against the sick feeling, forced it back. "Will you just get the hell outta my head?"

Azazel reached up, ruffling his hair, and Sam jerked back from his touch like he'd been scalded.

"See you around, Sammy boy."

Sam startled awake then, Dean's name on his lips, and he'd never been more relieved to feel Dean's weight against his side. Dean woke at the sudden movement, his eyes blinking blearily as he came to. "Sam?"

"Yeah."

It was then he seemed to realize where he was and he blinked harder, sitting up and stretching his shoulder. "Shit, can't believe we fell asleep like that."

"Think we were pretty much exhausted."

Dean arched his back, scratching at his chest, and he made a face at the shirt he'd been wearing for the past couple days at least. " 'M gross. C'mon, let's take a shower."

Irrational as it might be, especially after hearing they were being left alone, he just didn't want to stay in this room anymore. Sam shook his head, sliding out of bed and wrapping his hand around the familiar grip of the Colt. "Not here. Just change, let's hit the road. We'll catch a shower later."

Dean drove on the way out, and he kept up a pretty high speed until they hit the limits of Norman, Oklahoma. Sam had only ever been happier to leave Broward County, and the breath he let out after they crossed over the line seemed like he'd been holding it for days.

Dean slowed down, and he reached over and turned Ozzy down. "You wanna try to sleep for awhile? I know you didn't get much."

He nodded, slouching down in the seat. "Yeah. Sounds pretty nice. Wake me when you want me to drive, ok?"

"Yeah, sure, Sammy."

He wasn't really surprised when Dean let him sleep until he woke up on his own, driving even though he was pretty damn worn out himself. It was the kind of thing Dean always said big brothers were just supposed to do.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**2006**

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Sam was pretty sure he'd hardly ever been happier to get back to their crappy motel room. It was January, and here in Natchez, Mississippi cold rain was falling in buckets. It had been such an excruciatingly long 48 hours that honestly, even _that_ didn't seem so bad. It had started on Saturday when he and Dean had trapped a demon, and they had _just_ set up everything to exorcise it when Bobby'd called. He was in Pine Bluff, Arkansas on a job, and while they'd been planning to meet up with him afterward, he was in trouble _now_. They'd had a handful of questions to ask the demon about demonic activity in the area, but the circle was well drawn and Dean had plenty of holy water and the right books, so Sam had left him in control and lit out for Pine Bluff to help Bobby with his revenant. That had been a long and exhausting job, and Bobby'd needed some stitches afterward. He'd talked to Dean briefly on the phone but the conversation had been all too short, and Dean had sounded a little off, though he'd told Sam he was just tired.

He could understand; he was tired too. Lately, everything had gone quiet. No signs of the demon, hardly any signs of dad other than the coordinates he'd sent them when it came time to hunt down the wendigo in Colorado. All of that besides, Dean had been a little distant for the past few weeks, and it was damn near driving Sam crazy. Maybe it was worrying about dad but he couldn't put his finger on _what_ exactly it was, and he wished like hell Dean would talk to him about it. Of course, Dean was _Dean_, and trying to push him the way Dean sometimes pushed Sam hardly ever got him anywhere. Dean opened up only in his own good time, always.

Still, Sam couldn't wait to get inside. There was a warm shower somewhere in there and a bed and he could fall asleep with Dean beside him. All of that sounded fucking fantastic. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, slipping it into his jacket pocket. "God, it's freezing out there, man, I…Dean?"

Dean was sitting at the card table by the window, and the _look_ he gave Sam then…

He hadn't seen it in years, not since Ruby. In this life, not _ever_. He'd been crazy to think he was cold before. Now, he was freezing. "Dean?"

Dean just shook his head. "You know…I knew it. I didn't _want_ to, but I knew it. I mean hell…" He almost laughed, and for a second Sam caught the pain in his eyes before he looked down at the table. When his head turned back up, he'd already hidden it. "I was about ready to think I _had_ to have been wrong to question it to begin with, because when have you ever _seriously_ lied to me? But then there was that job we worked in New York, that woman hunter we ran into."

That had been at the beginning of December, Amsterdam, New York, just around the time that he noticed something different about Dean, and _shit_, this was bad. He swallowed, ran a hand through his sopping wet hair. "Dean, what are you talking about? I haven't-"

"_Don't_, Sam. Don't say you haven't lied, because that just…" He shook his head once, reached around and whipped something out of his pocket, slamming it onto the table. A tape recorder. "See, I was lookin' around in her library when we were researching the kelpie, and I found this really interesting book, touched a lot on the powers of angels and demons." His eyes narrowed, and he shifted forward in his chair. "Among other things, the fact that they're the only ones capable of time travel. And since you told me awhile back that all except for the defunct rebel we had tagging along with us the angels were all dicks, figured I could be reasonably sure you didn't go to one of them to press the reset button."

Oh God. "Dean, I-"

Dean just started the tape recorder, his own voice crackling through the tinny speaker.

"_His name would be Crowley, or something like it, do you __**know who I'm talking about**__?"_

There were screams, and after the hiss of holy water on burning skin, the garbled words started to come together and make sense.

"_Yes! Yes, I know Crowley…I've never…he's important, I've never met him personally."_

"_What does he do? And you better answer me or I swear to God-"_

"_He heads up the crossroads demons! Deals, that sort of thing, I swear, that's all I know about him, I swear..."_

Dean's voice on the recording started the Latin, tight and furious, and Dean slammed his finger down on the stop button, cutting the recording short. The silence was deafening. Sam could almost feel everything breaking, all the ground he'd gained crumbling away under his fingers and he looked away, lost for words.

"Just a guy you know, huh? Who just _decided_ to help you?" He heard the sound of the chair scraping against the carpet, Dean knocking against the table as he stood. "What did you do, Sam?" His voice was dangerously low, and Sam flinched, hating the sickening calm of it. "_Now_, dammit, Sam! What the hell did you _do_?"

"I made a deal with him." The words only cracked a little on the way out, and for that he was grateful.

"I'd say at this point that's pretty obvious, I mean what the _fuck_ did you give him, Sam? What'd you promise him, because this? This is pretty fuckin' big so I'm assuming we're not talkin' an exchange of information here."

Did it really even matter how he said it? Dean already knew; it was written all over his face. In all the hundreds of times he'd thought about his decision since he made it, most of them had been to think that it was worth it. Just a few weeks ago he'd thought just that, buried deep inside Dean in the backseat of the Impala, listening to the sound of his brother's voice as he breathed Sam's name against his skin, so wrecked and in love it hurt. This, though, this was how he sounded when he was broken, worse than how he'd sounded when he found out about dad and worse than he'd been talking about hell. And Sam had no idea what to say that Dean would accept, other than that he knew from here on out he had to be totally straight with him. Not that there was really that much left to hide.

"I ah…he gave me six years from the night I came back from Standford, give or take depending on how other things need to happen. All the date's really based on is the fact that the apocalypse needs to start on schedule so…I don't have a date for sure. But before it was um…sometime in May. 2008." May 2nd to be exact. There was just something unforgettable about watching your brother be ripped to pieces on your birthday that made you remember the date.

"And then what, they come drag your ass downstairs, is that what you're tellin' me?" Dean spread his hands out, waiting for an answer that Sam couldn't give. Dean already knew, and he just _couldn't_ say it. He couldn't, not with Dean looking at him like that. "Jesus Christ, Sam…" He turned away, and he seemed almost deathly still until he swiped his arm at the chair, sending it crashing into the corner. "How _could_ you? Goddammit, Sam, how could you do this?"

"Dean, you don't understand, you don't know what it was like, how things were between us, how bad the whole world looked, you don't-"

"I don't care! I don't care if it was raining fire around your ass, you don't sell your _soul_! I mean, honestly, what the _fuck_ were you thinking?" Lots of things, and he was about to start in on them when Dean cut in, his voice cutting about in half from its nearly deafening volume. "How could you do this _to me_, Sam? How?"

It stung as hard as Dean had meant it to, settling in deep to burn at him in a way he knew would last a long time. This one he'd be hearing until the day he died. He went toward him, drawn irresistibly to the hurt in Dean's voice even if he knew right now he could do nothing to soothe it. "Dean, I did this _for_ you. I mean…I can't even explain it all to you now, you wouldn't understand, but you were _gone_, Dean, you weren't…you'd given up on everything, everyone. I didn't even know you anymore. And a lot of the things that helped push things that way, they were my mistakes. So I wanted to fix them, and that would've been enough, but there was…" His eyes stung, and he took another step closer, his voice a little more sure. "We were in heaven, and someone up there that knew what they were talkin' about, they said we were soulmates. And I knew I'd been wrong to fight it and…and that maybe I could fix everything at once. Maybe that was the key we'd been missing. So yeah, I thought that was worth whatever it took, because this…I did this for _us_. For _this_."

Dean rubbed his hands over his eyes, and when he pulled them away he looked so damn exhausted Sam ached. "Yeah, thanks for that by the way. Cause if you're gonna die on me, might as well do as much damage as you can on the way out, right? Cause this, yeah this is gonna make it _so_ much better when I have to know that you're in_ hell_ for it."

There, he lost it, and he didn't even bother to wipe away the tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes. "Don't say that. Don't you say that." What they had between them was everything, and now that he'd _felt_ it, had it for real, he knew it was worth anything…from _his_ perspective. But thinking on it now he couldn't help but remember the summer of 2008, the way he'd felt like every second he was being flayed alive. There was no relief from the pain, no sanctuary, and it hadn't gotten better with time. As the months went on it had only gotten worse, and if he'd thought what he'd felt for Dean _then_ had been strong, if that had happened _now_…

He closed the last distance between them, his hands closing over Dean's shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Would you _stop lying_, Sam!" He shoved his hands away, quick and harsh. "You're not sorry. Don't pretend you are just cause you think it's what I wanna hear."

"Look, I know…I know I didn't think enough about what this'd do to you, but I still think maybe we can stop it and even if we can't, Dean, you have to understand, I just…we'd lost _everything_, and I lo-"

"You don't get to say that." For the first time since he'd started this conversation, Dean's voice shook, the façade cracking just enough to show something real underneath. Sam reached for him and he stepped back, the look in his eyes somewhere between absolute pain and absolute fury. "You don't get to say that, not now, because what you did to me? You don't put shit like that on someone you love. You just don't. Because Sam, I'm the one who's gonna have to live with this. This is on _me_, not you. And I'll be stuck up here, knowing you did this for…" It was too much, and he pushed past Sam, reaching in and roughly yanking the key from his jacket pocket as he did. "I'm goin' out."

His heart jolted, plummeting before ramming back up into his throat, beating jackhammer fast. He reached out just in time to grab Dean's arm, jerking him back. "Dean, wait! You said…" Angry as he was now, it sounded stupid to even bring up but he couldn't help it. "You said you wouldn't leave. You promised."

If it affected him, Sam couldn't see. "Well I'm sorry. But I can't talk about this any more right now."

Sometime after the door slammed, Sam realized his nails were digging into his palms hard enough to make them bleed.

He slammed into autopilot, hard, and for the first couple hours he didn't even think about calling him to ask him to come back and talk some more. After the first couple, he was too afraid of what the answer would be. He was in bed staring at the door when he finally heard the Impala's engine, and at first he could've cried with relief.

Dean staggered in, clearly drunk off his ass, and he watched his silhouette as he stripped his jacket off and clumsily maneuvered out of his boots. When he yanked the sheets back on the other bed and fell into it, Sam bit down on his fist and let the tears he didn't even know he had left come.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

Ok so…you guys are gonna kill me.

We're goin' on vacation and I have to leave really early tomorrow morning, so this'll be the last chapter until the 23rd, probably. I know…I know, you want to kill me. I _honestly_ didn't know it was gonna break right here which is kind of perfect and kind of horrible, I know. *ducks head* I'm sorry! I'll be back; promise!

…yeah, I know you're gonna kill my anyway, XD


	9. Chapter 9

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They'd been sleeping apart for three weeks.

Granted, calling it 'sleeping' was a little bit of a stretch, because Sam was damn sure he was down to about an hour a night, three tops, and by the way he could hear Dean tossing and turning, he knew Dean had to be getting about the same. Not that that was much consolation. It was fucking _torture_, and he knew now that every time he'd thought it was hard to sleep in a bed without Dean in his life before he'd just been kidding himself. Sure, it had been frustrating to imagine what it'd be like to wake up beside him, but this wasn't like that at all.

He knew how it felt to have Dean snuggled up against his side, cuddling without ever calling it cuddling, his breath warm and heavy against Sam's neck. He knew how it was to fall asleep with his head on Dean's chest to the sound of his heartbeat like he had when he was a kid, only now there was the way Dean's hands moved across his back and through his hair, the way Dean kissed him good morning even when he grumbled that Sam woke up too goddamn early for normal people. He knew that he still stole the covers like he had when he was 12, and that sometimes he dreamed about hunting and kicked or flailed his arms in his sleep. And he knew the sounds he made when they fooled around in the middle of the night, the softer, sleepy and content edge to the way he sounded when he came.

He knew it _all_, and every last detail of it was perfect to the point that he knew he'd never be able to really get a good night's sleep without Dean again. Not that sleeping was really what had him worried about the whole situation, it was just a small distraction, a tiny corner of a much larger problem.

Dean hadn't touched him since they'd fought. He was civil, and they'd taken on a couple cases, but Dean didn't talk beyond what he needed to say, and he'd rejected every attempt Sam had made to bring the subject back up again. The subject of what was going on with _them_…that one he'd been too afraid to even try to bring up. He wouldn't be able to stand it if Dean outright told him it was over, so he just kept hoping that somehow it wasn't.

The hunt they were in the process of at the moment had ended up with them separated, and for once he'd been the one watching after the kid the chimera was coming after next while Dean did the research. The creature had attacked, and though he'd managed to fight it off with only a couple sort of minor scratches, the kid was poisoned. It'd move on to its next victim now, and if they couldn't kill it soon the boy'd die. He had a pretty good idea where its lair was, though, and if the hunter Ellen had talked to had been right they could only kill it on the new moon which would mean tomorrow night was their only chance.

For the kid's sake, he hoped they didn't screw it up. Sam tilted his head back under the shower spray, hissing as the water pounded against the cuts on his back. It stung, but he didn't want to turn the water down. The heat felt too damn good on his muscles everywhere else.

"_Sammy_?"

It startled him, and with his head back under the water he swallowed just enough to make him choke a little, turning his head to the side so he could cough up the water that had almost slid down his windpipe. Dean's voice sounded panicked, desperate, and he hadn't called him Sammy since before Natchez.

"Dean?"

The door to the bathroom banged open, and Sam reached over to tug the shower curtain over just enough to see Dean standing there, his eyes wide and focused on Sam's bloody shirt on the counter. It took maybe a second for Dean to tear his eyes away and then he was reaching for Sam, yanking him in close and letting the water soak through his t-shirt. Sam's arms wound around him by instinct, the relief at being _able_ to hold him so strong the _how_ didn't really matter. Dean was holding him painfully tight, one arm pressing in against a still bleeding cut, but he couldn't have possibly cared less.

"Came back to the house and heard they'd taken the kid to the hospital. No one knew where you were and I thought…" He buried his face against Sam's neck, his breath coming uneven, and Sam's hand came up to press against the back of his head, holding him there. Water ran from his hair down across his face, to the point where his lips pressed against Dean's temple.

"Come here. Get in here with me." Dean seemed reluctant to let him go even for that, though he finally tore himself away and stripped quickly from his wet clothes. He climbed in the shower, and Sam tugged the curtain closed after him, let Dean push him up against the wall. The cold tile against his wounds burned, and though he only barely grimaced Dean noticed, his grip on Sam's arms tightening.

"Are you hurt? Did it-"

"A little. It's nothing, really. I'm ok, Dean."

Dean's fingers dug into his arms a little more, his grip bruising. "You sure? I just…in the field, there was so much blood and-"

"I'm ok, Dean. I promise. Most of it wasn't mine."

Dean's shoulders sagged, and he bowed his head under the water. It beaded up on the tip of his nose and on his hair and against the metal of the amulet, dripping off onto his chest, and Sam reached out to touch him, hands on Dean's shoulders pulling him in. Dean let him, his hands falling to Sam's waist and sliding around to hold him tight.

"I can't do it, Sammy." The whisper barely carried over the sound of the water, and Sam wrapped one arm all the way around Dean's shoulders, curling in a little more around him.

"Can't do what?" It hurt to ask, _God_ it did, but if Dean really wanted him to let him go, he couldn't keep him, couldn't force him into this if he'd rather be free of it. He just couldn't understand _how_, after everything they'd been through, Dean could be able to give this up.

"I can't give this up. I thought I could, I thought maybe if we just…if things just went back to the way they were before then maybe…" _Maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad_. He could feel it, just as clearly as if Dean had gone ahead and said it but Dean shook his head instead, his forehead resting weary against Sam's shoulder. "But I can't. I just can't. Not now."

Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat, his palm splaying warm across Dean's back. "Good. Cause I know I couldn't either."

"I…I wanna hate you for this. For doing this now, when you _knew_ how it was gonna end, but I can't do that either and I'm…Sam, I'm goin' crazy here, this hangin' over my head, the thought off losin' you…it's all I can think about."

"I know. I know, and I'm…" No, he still wasn't sorry. Not really. "I understand. Believe me, I do." At least, to a certain extent. But really, Dean didn't need to hear about that. In all likelihood it'd only make him feel worse, not better. "It's gonna be ok, Dean. We've got plenty of time. We'll find a way."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, I've got a couple of ideas."

"I just…I _need_ you. And that's never scared the hell outta me until now. It just seemed _right_ before but livin' without you…I couldn't. Sammy, I couldn't…"

This time, it was _Sam_ that was pretty sure he couldn't talk about this anymore without falling apart. He rubbed Dean's back, slow and soothing, and when Dean turned his head just a little father into him he pretended to think all the moisture on his face came from the shower.

They held each other underneath the spray until the water ran cold.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam reached for Dean's flask and took a sip, letting the burn in his throat distract him from the burn of peroxide against the slashes on his back. Dean was working just a little slower than usual, hands lingering on Sam's skin, and even though the cuts stung he absolutely didn't care. Until now Dean hadn't touched him like this since they'd fought, and he'd take it any way he could get it.

"You got lucky, dude. These aren't bad at all, pretty shallow. Not even gonna need stitches."

"Told you most of the blood wasn't mine." He looked back over his shoulder, turning just enough that he could see Dean's face, watch him twisting the cap back on the bottle and slipping everything back into the first aid kit.

"Gotta dry 'em off and I can bandage it for you anyway, but-"

"Don't worry about it right now." He half turned, reached out to Dean and felt his heart stutter in his chest when Dean turned toward his hand instead of away from it, cheek resting against Sam's palm. He hadn't shaved, and Sam rubbed his thumb over the sandpaper rough scrape of stubble just above his jaw. Slowly he moved closer, one hand pushing the box away to give him room to close the distance between them. He rested his forehead against his brother's, eyes closing as he breathed him in. "Missed you."

"I know."

Sam licked his lips, barely kept himself from closing that last inch and kissing him. He needed Dean to do this, to _choose_ this, even if he'd already made it pretty clear he wasn't walking away. Dean didn't make him wait long. He tilted his head forward, their lips brushing, following it by tugging Sam's lower lip between his teeth. Sam hummed in pleasure, low and soft, and Dean held on tight, moving back up the bed and dragging Sam with him. Dean turned his head a little more to find just the right angle, but he didn't claim Sam's mouth the way he'd been expecting. Dean's tongue flicked against his, cautious and beckoning, and Sam took the invitation, kissing him deeply as he pushed Dean back up against the headboard.

Dean's hands roved over his back, and from the way his fingers flexed against Sam's muscle it was plain he was still just trying to hold on. Like Sam was something that was going to fall through his fingers the minute he let go, transitory and already gone. Of all things, temporary wasn't something he'd ever wanted Dean to see him as, not this time around. He wanted to be a permanent fixture, unchanging and steady. Something Dean could have faith in, even when it didn't look like there was any faith left for anyone. He wanted to be more than the angels, more than fate, more than God, and he didn't care if that was wrong. After spending a lifetime holding up the weight of their entire family's problems, Dean deserved something he could lean on and trust that even if he got to the point where he couldn't carry his own weight much less everything else, he wouldn't be allowed to fall.

Sam's right hand fit against Dean's shoulder, encompassing and covering where the handprint would never be. Dean was _his_, his brother and his responsibility, and even if he'd done a little bit of wrong by putting them in this situation in the first place, he was still adamant that no matter what, he'd be the one looking after Dean, and he'd do it _right_, the way Dean had taught him.

Blood comes first, those that are pretty much family come second, the world comes third. And taking care of each other came above it all.

He loosened the towel at Dean's waist and flipped them over, Dean straddling his lap. He'd just barely broken the kiss to do it, and it tugged hard at something in his chest when Dean immediately pressed forward, like he couldn't get close enough. Of course, Sam understood. He could never manage to get Dean close enough either, not when the need to have him was so integral, a desperate desire that had clawed under his skin a long time ago and never left.

Dean's lips trailed away, tilting Sam's head back and kissing down his neck to his chest. At his collar Dean's tongue traced the outline of the scars he still had from the encounter with the black dog, and Sam arched up into his mouth. He was careful, thorough, but there was only so much of it Sam could stand before his eyes burned and he wrapped his fingers around the cord of the amulet, hauling Dean up for a kiss.

"Don't think about it. Don't." Dean flinched when he whispered it against his lips, just a little, just enough that Sam could feel it everywhere they were pressed together. Dean's eyes squeezed shut, his hand wrapping around the back of Sam's neck as he held on.

"You know I won't let this happen. I don't care what it takes." Sam knew that, because at their core, about the things that _really_ mattered, they were exactly the same. He'd gone to the crossroads drunk to try breaking a deal with a deal and he'd been turned down, and he knew that they wouldn't take Dean's soul, either. He knew it, just like he knew that even if he told him that now, Dean would still try it anyway.

His hands slid down Dean's sides to grip his hips, and Sam groaned as he rocked up against him. He _craved_ this, the way their bodies slid together, the way he swelled just a little bit more when Dean's length rubbed hard against his. It seemed like forever since they'd been together like this, not weeks, and he lost himself in the feeling, rutting against him slow enough to relish the way he could feel Dean's cock pulse and jerk when Sam sucked on his tongue.

It took him a second to notice when Dean reached over for the box, and it wasn't until Dean gasped against Sam's lips that he really paid attention. Dean had yanked the jar of vaseline out of the first aid kit, one finger already slicked and behind him, getting himself ready. Sam moaned, closed his fingers around Dean's wrist and pulled it away, draping his arm around his neck instead.

Prepping Dean with his own hands wasn't a privilege he'd give up to anyone, not even Dean. They had real lube across the room in Dean's bag but that'd mean getting up and he didn't want to do that any more than Dean had. He dipped his fingers into the jar, coated them well before he shifted his grip, coaxing Dean to raise up a little higher on his knees so could reach behind him. He slid two fingers in, marveled at the way Dean still felt so fucking tight around him, muscle fluttering against the intrusion. He twisted his hand, practiced fingers rubbing at just the right spot and Dean keened, his hips grinding back down against Sam's hand. He turned his head enough to kiss still damp skin on Dean's neck, warmth flooding his veins at the way Dean's arms tightened around his neck.

When he did nothing but press back harder when Sam added a third finger, he knew he was more than ready. If Dean needed this half as desperately as he did, he'd probably been ready for awhile now. He pulled his hand away, and he held the jar out to let Dean scoop out a little more, just enough to reach between them and slick Sam's cock.

His touch was so familiar now, everything from the calluses to his ring and Sam's body responded to Dean on the most basic level, rising up into the touch. Dean pressed forward against his chest, lined them up together and sank down. It was all Sam could do to keep his hips from snapping up and driving hard into the welcoming heat.

Dean swiveled his hips, drawing a moan from both of them, and Sam's hands settled light on either side. He let Dean control the movement, rising up and sinking down at a steady pace, his arms still wrapped around Sam's neck keeping their chests pressed together. There was the slide of sweat and the feel of Dean's heart beating against his, and when his right hand moved to press against the small of Dean's back Dean's hips jerked forward, grinding down hard as if he could take Sam just a little deeper by force of will.

Dean had been right to say he couldn't give this up, just like he'd been right from day one. After something like _this_, there was no going back. Dean was everywhere, surrounding him, and somehow he _still_ didn't feel like he had enough. He could never have enough.

Dean came first, spurting hot across both their chests and Sam let his head drop against Dean's shoulder, thrusting up hard into him until he was spent. When he went to move off of him Dean was a little shaky and limp with exertion and Sam tried to help him, mostly succeeded only in managing a sort of controlled collapse onto the bed next to him. Sam felt around on the covers until he found the vaseline jar, and he tossed it in the first aid kit and snapped the lid on before he pushed it off in the floor. Dean's towel was still on the bed and he rubbed it across both their chests to clean up a little. When he swiped it across Dean's Dean still shifted into his touch, and Sam leaned over and pressed a kiss just below his tattoo.

He fell asleep with Dean's body tangled hopelessly with his, and for the first time in awhile, he felt pretty damn sure that everything was gonna be ok. They wouldn't let it happen any other way.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"5 ball, corner pocket."

Dean leaned over the table, intent on lining up his perfect shot. Sam paid a little more attention to the way his shirt rode up when he leaned over the table, the way he licked his lips just before he took the shot. The loud crack of the balls coming together brought his attention back to the game, and he watched as it played out just like Dean said. Sam could pretty much hustle pool with the best of them, but between the two of them Dean beat him nearly every time, and the times he didn't Sam still occasionally got the annoying feeling that Dean had let him win.

Dean bumped his shoulder as he passed him, smirking. " 'S matter, Sammy? Ready to admit defeat?"

"I'm ready to believe I might never even get a chance to shoot but I'm not admitting defeat, no."

"You will."

Dean drained the last of his beer and he tilted the bottle up, questioning. "Hey, you mind…?"

"Nah. Be right back." Considering it was a Thursday night the bar wasn't really all that crowded, and he made it up to the front without too much trouble. He'd just ordered another round for both of them and he was leaning on the bar to wait when someone opened the door, and he caught sight of a woman climbing off the back of a Harley in the parking lot.

A woman with short blonde hair that he knew _all_ too well.

He was gone in a flash, back over to the corner table where they'd been playing. He came up behind him, gripping Dean's arm and leaning in close to his ear. "Dean, we have to go, _now_."

"What's going on?"

"Just trust me. We gotta go." Dean had already dropped the cue on the table and he was shrugging into his jacket quick, eyes already casing the crowd for a potential threat he wouldn't find. She just looked like a regular girl. "Back entrance?"

"Yeah, this way I think, saw a staff door by the bathrooms." Sam pushed him along and they slipped out, darting past a cook who'd gone out for a smoke and jogging furtively over to the Impala. Dean pulled out quick but not so much to draw any extra attention to them, and only once he was sure they were a ways down the road did Sam let himself stop looking over his shoulder.

"Ok."

Dean cast a look over at him, a little incredulous. " 'ok'? What was that all about? What got you so spooked in there?"

"Not what. _Who_. She's a demon. I don't know her name, but the girl she's wearing, her name was Meg and we only ever knew the demon by that." He shook his head, fingers tapping on the windowsill as he talked, looking out into the night. "It's the same body and everything, man. And just like pretty much everything else, this is earlier than I thought. By about a month, actually. It was April when I met her before."

"Ok. So, she's a demon. We gank her and move on, right?"

"Not exactly. I mean, now, yeah, that's exactly what I wanna do, but before, we didn't know she was a demon at first. She's involved pretty deep with Azazel, he's her father, and she wants…she wants me, I think. She kept tryin' to get me alone before, and then she used us as bait to draw dad to her to try and kill him."

"_What_?"

"Yeah. There's a lot more but…if we just kill her now, kill her early, none of that has to happen." And just maybe, this could be the one of those bigger things he could manage to change. The sooner they could get rid of that bitch the better. There already would be no possessing him because of his tattoo but if they got her now there'd be no using them as bait, no sicking hellhounds on them and getting Jo killed, no Bobby stabbing himself and ending up paralyzed.

"Sounds like plenty of incentive to me. But which part of this explains why we just _ran_ from her in a bar?"

"Dean, she wants _me_. I'm pretty sure she'll approach better if I'm on my own. Then I can…I don't know, lure her to you somehow. You have the Colt, you take her down."

"We sure we wanna use a bullet on this chick? I mean, that's a damn limited resource, Sam, and I think dad'd be pretty pissed if he found out we've got something that can kill the thing that killed mom and we were using it when we could've used a trap and an exorcism."

"Well dad's not here, and I promise, this is worth it. Sending her back to hell's not good enough. You've just gotta trust me on this; we can't give her a chance to get away."

Dean didn't like it, he knew that, but Sam could see the minute he relented. "Yeah, alright. So…what've you got in mind?"

''''''''''''''''''''''''

Of course, what Sam hadn't exactly counted on was the fact that this time around, _of course_ she wasn't going to try the same angle. Azazel already knew about him and Dean and so she had to have known by extension, because this time, she didn't even go for separating them.

In fact, she didn't rise to his bait at all. He sat at the bar all night and watched and waited and tried to pretend he _wasn't_ watching and waiting, but it didn't do any good. She was on the other side of the bar, chatting up an older man and keeping an eye on Sam when he wasn't so obviously looking.

It was ridiculously frustrating, and he left the bar feeling lost and stupid. He should've anticipated this, should've had a better plan. Dean was waiting for him out back in the alley, Colt tucked into the back of his jeans and though he looked relieved to see Sam, the relief quickly turned into surprise.

"Where is she?"

"She didn't talk to me. Not once." Automatically his hand came to rest on Dean's back, guiding him back toward the car just because he'd missed touching him. "C'mon. Let's get out of here; we can talk in the car."

Dean slid the Colt out of his waistband and laid it on the seat between them once they got in the car, and Sam moved it into the glovebox while he turned the ignition. With the Colt, there was no such thing as 'too careful'.

"So she just…ignored you?"

Sam shrugged, slouching down a little farther in the seat. "Yeah, basically. And it first it didn't really make any sense but the more I've been thinking about it…" He tapped his fingers on the car door, his thoughts clicking together. "She's talked to Azazel. She knows she can't go at this the way she would've before, and she knows we have the gun."

"…how'd she go at it before? I thought you said she just wanted you?"

"Well, that's what I was assuming; it's what she seemed to want the first time but the second…" If he was going to explain this, he was gonna have to back up and remember that he was working off of a knowledge base Dean knew next to nothing about. "Ok, so I ran into her on a hunt. Dad had called us to tell us where to go next and I left you to go find him." If he said that part really fast, maybe it wouldn't hurt quite so much. "Anyway, I ran into her hitchhiking on the side of the road and then again at a bus station. She was really…she mirrored everything I said wrong, basically. She told me she was striking out from her family, doing things her own way-"

"Everything you wanted to do."

Yeah, definite hurt there. "Not now! And not really then either I was just…I hadn't really come around to that yet. Anyway, Dean, I didn't go with her. She tried to get me to, but I left her and came back to you, but when I thought about it later knowing who she was it seemed pretty clear to me she was trying to separate us. But the second time, we were just bait for her to lure dad in for Azazel and maybe…maybe she's skipping right to that. I mean, I guess it makes sense, he would've told her we couldn't be separated." Because they couldn't. Not for anything, and certainly not for this stupid bitch.

Dean nodded, something in his shoulders just a little less tense. Sam was starting to think he'd _never_ learn that just because Sam had done some stupid things before that didn't mean he still wanted those things now. Far from it, in fact.

"Well, did it work?"

"Did what work?"

Dean waved a hand in front of his face, and on instinct he reached up to smack it back. "You paying attention? What you said just a minute ago, the thing about her luring dad here, did it work?"

"Yeah. Yeah it did, but it wasn't here, it was in Chicago and she was behind the case, making this devas kill for her. She got us trapped in this warehouse and we got her pushed out the window and thought that'd be the end of it cause we didn't know she was a demon then. Got back to the room, dad was waitin' on us. She sent the devas back after us, we all got hurt pretty bad before we split up again."

"Think she's behind the case here?"

"I don't see how she could possibly be. I mean, think about it, the research we've done? That's gotta be a spirit in that building. I don't think she could've reasonably planned that or had any effect on it at all, but she could've easily followed us here." And for her purposes, really any place they were together would do. All she really needed was to get them in a compromising position…whether she attacked them herself or rigged it so the spirit would do it for her hardly mattered. Her endgame here had to be getting their lives in enough danger to draw their dad, who had to have been keeping tabs on them somehow. Which meant he knew they were in Richardson, so this whole thing would flow a lot easier if he'd just answer his goddamn cell phone when they called. Somehow, Sam was still irked enough about that that he didn't feel the urge to try him, just then. Just like before they'd called him from Lawrence, only this time they'd _both_ called him from Lawrence. Nothing. He knew, now, that it was one thing to love John Winchester and a whole other to understand him and that those two didn't have to intersect, but even so sometimes the frustration still got the better of him.

"So basically, she's gonna try to trap us somewhere, but we don't know if it'll be with the spirit or on her own. That's helpful, Sam, really."

"It's more than we'd know otherwise! Look…her style, I think she'd rather pull this off on her own. She always seemed to take a lot of pleasure in thinking she was smarter than us so…she'll try to lure us. Come at us in a way we wouldn't expect. You gotta remember, she knows about us and she knows about the gun, but she _doesn't_ know that I know about her. So really all we need to do is wait for her to think she's getting ready to spring the trap, then we shoot her. Or…you shoot her. After what Yellow Eyes has told her she'll be expecting me to have the gun, so I don't think I should."

"Alright. So just…wait for her."

"Yeah. Yeah I think so." And hopefully, this time she wouldn't outsmart them.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The next day, the found out just _how_ it was she was planning on exploiting their case.

The spirit whose identity they still hadn't determined was haunting the Richardson Public Library, and it was while they were there at night that Meg decided to make her appearance.

As a victim.

Sam was out by the fountain, running his EMF and scanning the surrounding bushes, sawed off loaded with rock salt rounds and slung over his shoulder. Four nights ago there'd been an attack out here, though the woman had survived. She'd started to feel 'strange', as she put it, and then she'd felt a hand over her mouth, muffling her breath. She'd tried to scream and ended up on her knees on the pavement, flailing. It was just her luck that around then a group of people had come out the doors, and she'd been released. In fact, all the killings this spirit had done over the years seemed to be restricted to isolation(and women). The handful that had survived attacks had all managed because they'd been interrupted, indicating that secrecy played some sort of roll in the spirit's actions. Which was probably also why they were having such a hard time gathering information. If they'd been killed in secret, it would be nearly impossible to find out what had happened. Since the rash of deaths only occurred once every 25 years, they really needed to nail the culprit down this time around.

She approached him from the side, panicked, hand over her bruised throat. "Please…sir, help me, please…"

If he _ever_ need that poker face that Dean claimed he didn't have, it was now. He flicked off the EMF and slid it into his pocket, held his arm out and let her latch onto it even though his stomach turned. "Are you alright? What's going on?"

"I was…I was there, in the bushes." She let go, gesturing back over her shoulder into the darkness. God, he wished he had the gun. One shot to the side of her head, it'd all be done right then. Of course, handing it off to Dean had seemed like the best plan at the time, but wasn't it just Murphy's Law…

He needed to keep it together, stay clear and focused. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?" He tried to look like a typical good Samaritan citizen, heading a little toward the bushes, searching.

"I don't know, I just…I didn't see anyone but there was…Oh God, you've got a gun, please, please is there someone…is there something going on around here?" Damn, she was good. Of course, he'd always known she was an actress. The more she cried, the more he wanted to hit her. He could still see Jo dying, see the way Dean had looked at him just after he'd been possessed, so wounded and scared and angry all at once.

"It's alright, miss, it's ok, I can help you."

She was shaking her head, backing up toward the fountain to lead him around the other side. The building back there was the Richardson Civic Center, definitely closed at this hour…and probably a pretty decent place to trap then in a back room and wait for dad.

"Please, please can we just go? There's something out here, I don't…"

"Sam."

22 years of experience had taught him that with _that_ tone of voice, he'd better get out of the way. He dropped, Dean fired, and he heard the unmistakable crackle of the Colt as her body toppled backwards into the fountain.

Dean crossed over to him slow, the Colt still resting in his hand. She was half underwater, and with the lights on the fountain the only ones around the effect was undeniably eerie, even for them. It was a moment before either of them could look away, and finally Dean shuffled a little closer, patting Sam on the back before he slipped the Colt back into his waistband.

"So. You never did tell me, exactly."

"Tell you what?" He'd told him so much at this point, it seemed like Dean already knew nearly everything except the details. Well, and the whole Lucifer and Michael thing. But he'd said he was gonna be straight with him, and if it came up, or if he asked if Sam had told him everything…well eventually, he was gonna have to come clean all the way. Just hopefully not right now, because these past few weeks things had been going so well. Dean had gone from being furious about the deal to looking at Sam like he was about to vanish at any second, and just recently it seemed like he'd finally calmed down a little. Or at least, he'd accepted that for the time being, Sam wasn't going anywhere.

"That thing I just shot, what'd we stop? I mean, other than the whole 'luring dad here' thing."

They were walking back to the car, a little slow considering the gunshot they'd just caused but honestly, this part of town this late at night, there wasn't anyone around to call it in. At least, not right away. Sam slowed down just a little more, pulled his collar down and to the side as they passed under a streetlight. "Well _these_ had already stopped the first part of it." Dean's eyebrows rose, and Sam nodded. "Yeah. She got me for a few days, and I nearly killed Jo. And you. And I definitely killed another hunter so…there's that. She killed Pastor Jim, Caleb-"

"Holy shit."

"-_and_ Jo. Well, by proxy but it still counts, and that same accident, Ellen died there too. So, the way I see it…that was five lives right there."

Dean shook his head once, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Not bad, Sammy."

He could definitely second that. Not bad at all.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;


	10. Chapter 10

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

It took them three more days and a lot more research to solve the case. Of course, they were supremely lucky there weren't cameras out back between the library and the civic center because some of that research had to be done there and it would've been next to impossible with the police that were crawling around in the day immediately following Meg's death. They kept the Colt well hidden after that night, in the trunk of the Impala, though it wasn't all that necessary. The murder case was a total dead end. No one in town knew the girl, and obviously, she carried no identification. Of course, that only made them assume she'd been robbed, and it led them barking up the wrong tree where they'd be until they closed the case.

Sam couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the _real_ Meg because without that fall from the window to worry about, she'd still been in there, and if they'd performed an exorcism they probably could have saved her. But that was just one of those things…family came first, and Pastor Jim, Caleb…they couldn't die. Not when he could stop it.

In the end, they found the answer not in the traditional library records but in a newspaper article run on local tragedies, like the story of how a woman had been raped at the library way back in the day and had managed to kill her attacker by beating him to death with a heavy book. The poor woman had been severely traumatized by the whole experience, and she'd taken her own life days later. From the way the spirit targeted women and in most cases choked them to death, they were fairly sure they were dealing not with the spirit of Abby, but with that of Dawson Ijams, her attacker.

His grave only took a little checking around to find, and they'd just finished wrapping up the salt and burn, shovel's slung over their shoulders on the way back to the car.

"I don't know about you, but I was thinkin' we should reward ourselves after this one."

Sam laughed. "Yeah? How so?"

"I dunno. I mean, we've never really hit up Vegas." True. He'd almost forgotten that that was on Dean's 'list', honestly, so now just might be a good time to knock it out. They were no closer to finding dad than they ever had been, even though he was pretty damn sure they'd been in the same city a handful of times. For the moment, best they could do was everything they already _had_ been doing, and it wouldn't hurt to take a break.

"Think we could handle that." Dean popped the trunk, and Sam leaned over it, tucking first his shovel and Dean's into their place.

"Boys."

Honestly, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He _did_ jerk, enough to crack his head on the trunk of the Impala, but that hardly mattered. He pressed the heel of his hand against the knot on his forehead, whirling around to face the _last_ person he'd expected to see right then.

"_Dad_?"

He smiled, hunched his shoulders a little more, hands tucked into his pockets. "Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"You were here? I mean, when'd you-"

"Just this morning. I found out there was gonna be trouble for you two, and I came to make sure it didn't happen the way _it_ wants." He stepped forward, clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder then hesitated, followed the motion through all the way into a hug that Dean accepted like he was starving for it. Sam didn't expect the same, honestly, but when he got it anyway he teared up, held on tight and patted his dad on the back before he let him go, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"What're you talkin' about dad? What's goin' on?"

"First things first, let me see that gun." They looked at each other, then, and he smiled a little wider. "Yeah, I know you've got it. I didn't at first, though I _did_ hear it went missing from Daniel's. But when I heard about the demon you killed the other night, I knew you had it. How'd you even find out about it? And what the hell made you think it was ok to steal from a fellow hunter? I mean, not that I'm not grateful we've got it now, but Daniel's a good man, and he didn't deserve that."

"Dad, we're sorry, but-"

"But I had heard about the gun." Sam cut in, ignored the look Dean gave him that tried to tell him he didn't have to handle it. "And I thought that if you were in danger when we found you, it might be something we needed to have." It was a little disturbing how easy the lies still came, when he needed them. "Look, I know it was wrong, but I was thinkin' about you." And Dean. Always Dean. Before dad could start in on him again, he kept going. "So what's going on, dad? Why're you here? I mean, we've been tryin' everything, been calling every time we needed you and we've gotten nothing so…"

"I know. And I'm sorry. I have to say, you boys've been doin' really well. But I've been after it, the thing that killed your mother, and it's dangerous, Sammy. I don't want you caught in the crossfire, and that's _exactly_ what's gonna happen if I don't get you two safe right now, because it's a demon, and that other one you killed? She meant something to him, because he's coming straight for you. And from what I've been able to gather, he's not alone either."

Well. Shit. This was one of those unintended consequences, like killing jackals and being overrun with snakes. Pick your poison. All things considered there was a pretty big part of him that would've rather faced Meg than Azazel but at the same time, if they were able to really _get_ Azazel this time…well, that'd change everything.

"What do we do?" Dean was in full on protector mode, shoulders squared, his eyes watching their father's every move like he was a god. Sam had seen that change come over a hundred times since he was a kid, usually right at the moment dad walked out the door and said 'Don't open this door for anyone, don't answer the phone unless it rings once first, and watch out for Sammy.'.

"Right now, you get in the car. I'll explain once we get back to the motel."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Under the circumstances not being able to touch Dean probably shouldn't have been a concern, but it was. It had been months now they'd been traveling alone, and he wasn't even sure if he could manage to share a bed with him and make it look remotely distant anymore. He curled around Dean unconsciously, moved _into_ his touch rather than away from it if their arms brushed as they turned over.

So until he could find the answer to how much self control he kept while unconscious, he was staying up and letting Dean sleep. Dad was researching and he'd been trying to do the same, though for the past 20 minutes it had just been sipping coffee that did nothing to settle the way his stomach was churning. He'd been thinking over everything since dad had told them what he knew about the demon. Since he knew that he hadn't said _all_ he knew. It had twisted at him like barbed wire under his skin, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought that maybe this had to be equal, because even with Meg dead this was playing out too dangerously close to before. There were things he needed to get off his chest, things he needed dad to understand, things he needed to hear.

He sat the half empty styrofoam cup down and cleared his throat. "Hey, dad? Can I talk to you about something?"

Right away, he shut the book he'd been reading. Sam could(and had) say what he liked about the kind of father John Winchester had been, but even at his _worst_ totally uncaring had never been one of those things. Even if sometimes it was hard to understand the way he showed it, for the most part, he made sense if you knew where to look.

"Course, Sammy. What's on your mind?"

_Everything_. Every last goddamn thing from 'He said I might have to kill you, Sammy!' to 'So, Lucifer's wearing you to the prom'. He swallowed hard, sat forward on the end of the bed and talked quietly , his hands rubbing together. "So…this is gonna sound a lot crazy, but if I swear I'm tellin' you the truth and I give you enough proof that I am, you promise you'll believe me?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to catch Sam's eyes. "You know I will. Just tell me what's botherin' you."

He laughed, short and nervous. "Ah, a lot, actually. Um…dad, I know." Well, that needed more clarification. "About me. About…about what Azazel did." He'd figured that whatever dad said about believing him he needed to start with a hook to get him really certain, and that was it. He'd hardly ever seen him look so taken off guard.

"Did you-"

"No, no, dad, I haven't been goin' through any of your stuff. I promise." Other than breaking into the truck that once for weather patterns, but that shouldn't count. "See, this is the part that's gonna sound crazy, but considering you already know what he's done to me, maybe it'll be a little easier for you to understand." Emphasis on the maybe. "Do you…do you even know what his endgame for all this is?" Even if he _was_ about to tell him, he still desperately hoped the answer was a no.

He hesitated like he still couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation, or that he _should_ be having this conversation, but he relented. "For sure, no. But I've got some ideas, I think…but, Sam, you don't _have_ to do this, ok? We don't…we don't know exactly what-"

"Dad, I know. Just…how do you think it ends? Please, I need to know what you think." _About me_. Because deep down, that was the issue here. Was he afraid of him? Did he see him the way Gordon had, as a ticking time bomb that would have to be used in a controlled explosion if he couldn't be diffused in a 'reasonable' amount of time?

In the silence, he could hear Dean breathing, slow and even and steady, and he counted 15 of them before he got his answer.

"I think you're my son." He reached out, a single strong, comforting hand closing for a moment over Sam's arm before he pulled it away. "And I think he wanted to use you to start a war, and that whatever he had planned for you, it doesn't really matter, because _I'm_ not gonna let it happen. You understand? I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, Sammy. I'm not."

If he could've chosen the answer he _needed_ but wouldn't have expected in a million years, it would've been something like that. After hearing it, he almost didn't want to say any more, almost wanted to let it go and just keep those words locked away as the last ones on the subject, but he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to.

Even so, he couldn't look up as he said it. "He does want to start a war. But it's not really…it's bigger than that. He wants to start the apocalypse, and he needs…" Somehow, it was almost harder saying the words to him than it was to Dean. "He needs someone with demon blood, because they need certain powers to help break some of the seals, the ones they talk about in Revelation. And when that's done, Lucifer rises and claims his vessel. Which…" He took a deep breath, hoped like hell the words came out stronger than he felt. "Has to be a younger brother. From just the right bloodline, because his older brother, he has to be the vessel for the archangel Michael. And _then_…then there's the war."

God, if he'd thought the silence was deafening _before_…

"How do you know all this, Sam?"

"Because I've done it already. Well, most of it anyway, right up to the Lucifer part." His eyes darted up to check the look on his face, and he wasn't sure if he was more relieved or disappointed to see that dad clearly didn't think he was crazy. Just…right. "I ah…things were goin' to hell, dad." This part, this'd be the point where he couldn't hold it together so well. "Dean was…he wasn't even himself anymore, and I was mostly to blame, but he'd been to hell too and…" Fuck, he didn't want to get into it _all_. Even if he felt like it might help, just a little. "I'd done so much wrong, dad. I…I used the powers, I did…" His voice dropped, so hushed even _he_ could hardly hear. "I did terrible things. But in the end, I came around but it was nearly too late. I wasn't saying yes to Lucifer, but Dean was about a month or so away from sayin' yes to Michael, I could see it in him, and I guess I panicked. So…I went to a crossroads demon, and I made a deal, and I came back here, to do it all over. And I know-" He could tell, he was about to light into him over the demon thing. Everyone kind of had a right, really. "-I know that sounds really crazy. But I know things I couldn't know, I know what the house in Lawrence looked like when you were living there, cause we had to go back and stop these angels. There were the two couches across from each other in the living room and it was 1978 and you'd never met much of mom's family." God, he'd never seen dad so taken off guard. "But the point is I think I can stop it, and even if I can't stop _all_ of it, I've already lived through all this once. And if I could do all the _wrong_ things that I did before and still come down to the end and sayin' no when it mattered…then I can do much better this time around." That was what he had to believe, at least. It _felt_ true.

"Sam…" He rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing hard at his beard and over his eyes. This was too much to put on him, Sam knew, but he _needed_ to. He desperately needed to. "Why are you just tellin' me this now? If you knew-"

"Mostly, because I wanted to fix it myself. And…because it's hard to explain, and I hated to tell either of you some of it, and there was the question of convincing you to believe me and…" But mostly, it came down to the whole 'not wanting them to know' thing. Because in their line of work, they could convince each other of pretty much anything.

Dad was at a loss. He looked like he wanted to yell, he did, but the shock and the weariness was weighing down the anger for once. "I'm guessing I don't make it that far, do I?"

"You will." He wasn't losing him again, he _wasn't_. Not yet, not when they were actually family again. "Dad, I-"

"Sam, what the hell good did you think selling your soul was gonna do? They've already-"

"Already got it? But see, that's the thing, dad, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you, they don't!" And this, this was what he wanted him to believe more than anything else. That in his _soul_, down deep where the blood couldn't touch, he was just _Sam_. Sam _Winchester_. And that made all the difference in the world. "Look, you said…you said you believed in me, right? Or at least, that I'm your son, that I don't have to be anything other than that. Well that's what I'm gonna do. I know what I did wrong, and I know where it started, and it's not gonna happen again. It's not. I'm gonna do things right this time, and if I go to hell…I'll do that right too. For as long as I can. Look, I promise, I…I'm not gonna let you down. Just trust me. Please, just trust me, I'm not…" His eyes burned, and he looked away. "Before, it was like everyone was expecting me to fail, like…like this was just my destiny and it was inevitable, but I _never_ believed it, I never stopped believing I could change it if I wanted. That me and Dean could change it. I just…I guess I just wanna know that you think I have a chance. That you can trust me enough to believe I'll do the right thing, that-"

"Ok."

He stopped rambling, bit down on his tongue before he could bring himself to look up and meet his father's gaze. His eyes were bright, and he shifted just a little closer and reached out, fingers trailing through his hair like he had when he was just a boy, hand drifting down to squeeze his shoulder.

"It's ok, Sammy. It doesn't matter what they say you're supposed to do, alright? I believe you."

The words had never sounded so good. He nodded, slid his hands over his knees and almost stood up to try and go to bed or least get back to work, but he stopped himself at the last second, one more thing still nagging at him.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Can you not tell Dean?" Because if somehow he went wrong here, God forbid if they lost him anyway and he told Dean what he had before, or if he just decided to tell him anway…no. That just couldn't happen. He'd seen the weight of it drive Dean to just this side of suicidal before and he had no desire to see that happen again. "I've already told him nearly everything. He knows about my deal, about most of it, he just doesn't know about Lucifer, about how bad things get." About how bad _he_ got. "And before, you told him something that wrecked him and…and I don't wanna see him go through that again. Look, I know you expect him to look after me, and I appreciate it, I do, but this is one I've gotta take on my own anyway, and I _can_. He doesn't need that on him, not now. So…please, just don't tell him anything that's gonna make him worry, ok? Please?"

He smiled, sitting back in his chair and looking over at where Dean slept, stretched out on his back in the bed by the door. "You know, when you were little, I never had to tell him much about lookin' out for you. I'd remind him to do it, but all the_ ways_ he did it, he knew those all on his own. First few months after we left Lawrence, I couldn't keep him from sleepin' in your crib, cause he was sure the fire couldn't get you if he was there." Yeah, that sounded like Dean. The need to go to him then was nearly overpowering, a pull Sam hated to resist. "Dean's never gonna stop worryin' about you, Sammy. He _wants_ to be the kind of big brother he thinks he needs to be, and I'm sure I'm part of it, but it was already in him, too. So whatever I tell him or don't tell him, it's not gonna change much."

"With this, it will. I promise." Especially after the way Dean had nearly fallen apart over the demon deal. He couldn't find out everything else, not in the way dad would tell him. It was bad enough that he'd one day end up hearing it from Sam anyway.

"Well, I won't tell him. I'm just sayin', Dean's gonna keep worrying. And he's not an idiot. Kid reads you like a book, always has. If it's on your mind, he's gonna know it."

Yeah. There was that.

Dad patted him on the shoulder, his hand lingering. "You should get some sleep, son. We gotta be focused tomorrow, ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, ok."

He'd just turned away when he asked his last question, voice soft and quiet.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Before it gets that far, do we finish this son of a bitch?"

That, at least, he had a _good_ answer for. "Yeah. We do."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

There were so many ways this was a terrible idea.

They'd done some snooping around and some examining of cloud patterns and such, and they'd found the area of town they thought he'd be in. Or at least the direction he'd come from, in any case. It was an out of the way area, and there was sure to be more than enough places out there for him to hide. That part, that all made sense. What made none whatsoever was this current plan.

"Dad, it's insane, alright? No way you should be going out there by yourself, _without the Colt_ much less!"

He zipped up his bag, slung it quick over his shoulder. "Sam, this is not an argument. This is not even a _discussion_, because I'm goin' like it or not, and you'll stay here with your brother like I told you already." They stared each other down, and just like he had all his life he felt like he shrank under the iron strength of dad's gaze. "You boys need to keep the Colt just in case, but I'm just going out scouting. Nothing I need you for, and I won't be able to do it right if I'm worried about either of you getting caught or getting hurt. So you _stay here_ and you find out what you can, and you wait for me to get back. Got it?"

Yeah, perfectly. Only it hadn't magically gotten any less stupid since he'd said it a few minutes ago. "But, dad-"

"_Sam_." Clearly, _no_ argument. He crossed to the door, hefting the bag up just a little higher on his shoulder. "Dean, you both stay here and wait for me, you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. I'll be back."

As soon as the door shut, he turned on Dean. "Dean, this is _bullshit_!"

Dean sighed, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look, man, I know you don't like it but unless there's some specific reason you know that you couldn't tell him, we've got nothin' and we need to stay here."

It was just that that worried him. He had _nothing_. He had no precedent for this, no way of knowing how it went or what would happen next and that was infuriating. In big stakes situations like this, he'd wanted to go into them knowing everyone's cards.

The Colt was lying on the dresser, and his eyes were drawn to it as he paced, like it was calling out to him. He was all for protecting those last 3 bullets of course, but protecting _dad_…that was more important. If he got himself into a mess with Azazel, if something happened because they let him go alone…

"Dude." Dean stepped in front of him, catching his shirt and holding on. "Sam, I'm freaked too, ok? I'm scared. But we've gotta do what dad asked us. We've gotta trust him. He knows what he's doin', alright? He's _dad_."

There was that, sure, and Dean had always believed it was enough. Even as a man, in his eyes dad was nothing short of a superhero, invincible and strong and brave. Scary thing was, the real truth lay somewhere short of that, and Sam never wanted to watch Dean learn it. Every year since their father's death his opinion of him had dropped, and while it was true he'd messed up a few things, watching Dean gradually lose all faith and respect for someone he'd loved so much and held so high had torn at Sam's heart. He absolutely never wanted to see that happen again.

Sam sat down with Dean on the edge of the bed, his hands linked, thumbs tapping against his knuckles since he couldn't pace. Hopefully, Dean was right.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

By the time 1 rolled around, Dean was starting to really worry. Sam could see it in little things, like the way he took a drink, his fingers tightening a little convulsively around his beer, and the way he couldn't focus on anything for more than two seconds, even the journal. Especially the journal. Considering that was the one text Dean could and did read with religious attention, that was a sure sign of trouble.

Of course, that was the whole problem. Dad not being back yet, _that_ was the real sure sign of trouble. He usually gave them a concrete time to expect him, or at the very _least_ an estimate, but since he hadn't known exactly what all he'd be casing, he hadn't been entirely sure how long he'd been gone. That created an even larger problem for them now, though, because if they went looking for him and he'd still planned to be gone much longer and didn't need them, he'd just jump all over them about following his orders. If, on the other hand, something had gone wrong…

"This isn't right."

Now would've been a cruel time to point out that's why he'd flipped from the start. "No. It's not."

Dean let out a heavy breath, almost relieved, like he'd just been waiting for Sam to agree with him and ease some of the tension from his chest. From the set of his shoulders, though, most of it had stayed. "I mean, he hasn't even called."

"And we don't even know where he is, which, if we'd gone _with_ him…" He couldn't help pointing that out, at least a _little_. Sam sighed, rubbed his hands over his knees, feeling fraying denim. "Ok. So, considering I think we should've followed him to begin with, I say we go looking. If we find him and he's fine and he's pissed, ok, just tell him it was my fault, because if something's wrong, we need to be there with him."

Dean hesitated, his hand hovering over his pocket for a moment before he whipped out his phone. "Let me just call him real quick. I know he's not the best about answering, but just in case..."

On the third ring his face paled, and Sam already knew.

"Who the hell is this?"

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam had only wanted to believe in fate selectively. Apparently, that was something you couldn't really do. He believed it that he was meant to be with his brother, to be bound to him in every way possible but he didn't want to believe that come hell or high water he was gonna be nothing more than Lucifer's puppet at the end of the day. He didn't want to believe that all the hundreds of shitty things that had happened to them over the course of their lives had been _meant_ to happen, but now he was seriously starting to wonder.

Was everyone only allotted so much good in their life and the rest had to be borderline unbearable? Was that it, or were the Winchesters really just cursed?

He didn't have the answers to those questions, and he was starting to think he hardly had the answers to anything else either. A lot of good it was gonna do him if most of the things he wanted to stop were just six of one half a dozen of the other. Thing was, from what Dean had told him it wasn't Yellow Eyes on the phone, and he knew for certain with the tattoo he'd gotten at the same time they did that dad couldn't be possessed this time around, so it was all up in the air just how this could go.

Dean did 30 over nearly all the way out to the abandoned barn, and he screeched onto the last turn, gravel flying from the tires. Sam reached over, closed his hand around his arm just above his wrist.

"Dean, slow down. They may know we're coming but we don't wanna advertise it." They wouldn't have much of an element of surprise here, so any at all that they could grab would be to their benefit. If they could even manage that at all. He closed his hand around the Colt tucked against his side under his jacket, his fingers pressing hard into the grip.

_Think I've found something that belongs to you. Bring the gun._

Dean said he'd been short about it, terse, and Sam could've told him right away that that wasn't Azazel. It wasn't his style. If this went anything like before, though, Yellow Eyes had brought his boy in with Meg last time around. If he was angry about her death, it could stand to reason he'd send his son this time around too. Of course, there the omens to account for but Azazel had fooled them before. It could be a trick, or he could've barely passed through town, or he could be waiting for them there in the barn. There was just _no way_ to know.

When they saw it up ahead Dean slowed up, and he parked on the opposite side of the street, a good enough distance that if things went crazy in there they'd still be able to get out pretty fast but not close enough that someone else was likely to drive off with the car. At least, that had been the rationale Dean had explained to Sam years ago as to why he parked it at a distance when they were going into certain situations.

_We can't let 'em take the car, Sam. We've gotta look after it._

Of course.

Sam patted down his pockets, felt the tape recorder, exorcism book and the flask of holy water. The Colt was in snug against his side, the grip pressing into his ribs. Getting through this and still keeping it was going to be potentially impossible, but they could do their best. Above all else, getting dad out of there alive was priority, even if it lost them the Colt.

He shut his door a little carefully than he normally would have, even though it was pointless to go easy on the noise. He had to know they were here. Dean was focused, steady, the usual look he had when he was hunting intensified and almost wiped over by a kind of focused anger that Sam recognized all too well.

"Dean." He looked over at him, eyebrows rising. "We'll get him. I know we will."

"You just be careful, alright? Look if you even think there's no way of pulling anything else off, you just hand him the gun and we'll go, ok?"

Well, he didn't want to make it _that_ easy on them. He was gonna try at least something first. "It's alright. Just…distract him for me. Get him talking, looking away from me for a second, ok? Then I'll give him the gun."

The look in Dean's eyes was pure suspicion. "What are you gonna do?"

"Something that might buy us a few seconds. C'mon, let's go."

Dean caught the back of his jacket as he tried to walk past, snagging him to a stop. "If you think you can leave it at that you're crazy. What're you gonna do?"

Even if they weren't being watched, he didn't want to pull it out here. "The tape recorder, the one you used when…" It was still enough of a sore memory that he couldn't quite finish that. "You stopped at the exorcism."

"Yeah?"

"Well that tape's still in there, right? I snagged it out of the bag before we left, and if I play it, it doesn't matter if it's loud just hearing it will have an effect on him." Sam shrugged. "He'll probably get to it and destroy it pretty quick but…it's something. It's a distraction."

He brought his hand down on Dean's shoulder, squeezed hard and felt the familiar strong muscle under his fingers. The touch grounded them both, and he could see a little of the worry seep out of Dean's eyes. They were halfway across to the barn before Dean spoke again, his voice low.

"I mean it, Sam, this goes south you get your ass out of here I don't care if-"

"I'm not leaving you and dad. But if something happens, yeah, we'll _all_ haul ass outta here." With any luck, though, this'd go a lot smoother than that. They opened the barn doors together, one each, and they tossed them open hard letting the late afternoon light in. The sun was almost down, the light orange and gold and just enough to reach about halfway back, to the point where their dad was tied to a rusted out tractor. He was conscious but blood was crusted on the side of his face from a clearly pretty serious wound, and it took everything Sam had not to run to him.

"_Dad_." They said it at the same time, both a little breathless, and he held his head up just a little higher.

"Hey, boys."

"I see you came." The demon came forward out of the shadows, red hair and black eyes and a steady calculating look. "You should know, I won't hesitate to kill your father in front of you but that's just messy and he'd rather I avoid it, even after what you've done."

"Where is he? Coward send you here cause he knew we were gonna kick your sorry ass?" Dean stalked forward to meet him, keeping himself between the demon and Sam. It just kept coming closer anyway.

"He has more important things to do. Although the death of my sister was enough to bring him to town, briefly. Enough to get your attention and realize he couldn't let the gun stay in your hands, even if you weren't quick enough or smart enough to get him with it." There, they got what was almost a grin, but it didn't take. Meg was taunting, talkative like her father but this guy…all business, and probably harder to taunt, to distract. Lovely.

"Your sister, huh? Gotta tell you, man…" Dean stepped forward just a little further, mostly blocking Sam from view. "She's a real bitch." Sam slipped his hand into his pocket.

"A compliment."

He pushed play, jerking the recorder out of his pocket so the sound could emanate at least a little louder, Dean's voice pouring from the speaker.

_omnis immundus spiritus_

He flinched, turning and snarling, and Sam's fingers tightened on the recorder and held it high, holding his attention. Dean took the chance, bolting around and heading straight for dad, falling to his knees beside him in the dirt.

_omnis satanica potestas_

There was screaming from the tape recorder, and the demon before him stumbled as he lurched forward.

_omnis incursio_

He lunged forward, harder, and Sam reached into his pocket for the Colt, tossing it free and to the side. The chances that he could grab it like that were pretty decent, but if he got his hands on Sam like it looked like he was going to, he'd _definitely_ get his hands on it. Sure enough, the demon hit him hard in the chest, driving him back, one hand going up to grip Sam's wrist and slam his hand into the ground. His hand popped open at the sharp pain, the recorder bouncing free, and the demon grabbed it, beating it into pieces against the dirt floor.

Sam tried to scrabble in his jacket for the holy water but his hand was smacked away, the demon's free hand then sliding up to curl around his throat. It had been awhile since a demon of this level was stronger than him, and for a moment something insidious in the back of his head told him that if he could only _drink_, he'd have no problems. It wouldn't be hard, his neck was _right there_, but…

_No_. Goddammit, no, never again. Not once. He gasped, twisted, tried in vain to push him off. His throat burned.

A shot cracked off followed by the familiar crackle of electricity, and the demon slumped forward onto him, a bullet through his head. Sam shoved at him, pushing him free, and he'd hardly even started to catch his breath before Dean was there. He crouched over him, one hand on Sam's shoulder, the other against his cheek.

"Sammy? You ok?"

He wheezed, nodded slowly, patted Dean's arm once before pushing his hand away from his face. The hand on his shoulder stayed, and when Sam rolled over to try and find his feet Dean pulled him up, arm hooked around his shoulders. After a few more breaths he definitely didn't need it, but he didn't try to move away, instead leaned just a little more into his brother's side.

"How many bullets left?"

"You're gonna ask me that _now_? He was tryin' to _kill_ Sam and you-"

"_How many bullets_?"

"2." Sam spoke up, his voice scratching only a little. "There's 2."

Dad held out his hand, beckoning. "Give me the gun, Dean."

Dean's fingers flexed around it, and he pulled it back in close to his chest. It didn't escape Sam's notice that he pulled _him_ in just a little tighter too, and he hoped that dad wasn't watching all that closely. They'd never tipped him off as far as they knew, and they were pretty damn sure they didn't _ever_ want to know how he'd respond if he knew what went on between them.

"No."

"_No_? Dean, that's an order, you give me the gun so I can keep it safe so when I finally find the son of a bitch that killed your _mother_-"

"We." They both looked at him, and Sam tried to stand up just a little taller without letting go. "When _we_ find him. Dad, I know you're tryin' to protect us, we both know that, but don't you think we're worried about what could happen to you, too? We've had that on us the whole time you've been gone, thinkin' that something could happen to you without us there to watch your back and it just…it's not right that we can't worry about you, too. And besides, you saw what happened here. You're the best hunter there is, but-" He tried to wave it off, but Sam kept talking. "-even you're not invincible, dad. And we're weaker if they divide us, we all are." Every single time. "You gotta believe me on this. We need to stick together, to bring this demon down _together_. Please."

He took a deep breath, nodded once before he brought a hand up to rest on each of their shoulders, stabilizing. "Alright. Alright, we'll do it together. But you've gotta understand something, both of you. If I give you an order, you _listen_, for everyone's sakes, because if I don't know I have control over what's going on, I'm gonna be worried enough about both of you that that'll make everything worse."

"And if we'd listened to you today, you'd be dead."

"You don't know that, he probably would've-"

"_Dad_, please. Just…trust us a little to know what we're doin', ok? You taught us. We're pretty good at all of this by now. At least…" He glanced over at Dean, tried to get his brother to crack a smile. It worked, if only just. "Most of the time. Enough to come in and save your ass every now and then."

He smirked, laughing a little as he shook his head. "C'mon. If we're leavin' we don't have any more time to waste. If he's still in town, we've gotta find him."

"You really think he is? I mean, guy over there made it sound like he was just passin' through." Dean shifted his weight, his fingers tightening around the collar of Sam's jacket where his hand curled around his neck.

"No way to know until we look into it for ourselves." He held his hand out again, something in his eyes just a little less serious than before but still making it clear he'd meant what he said. "The gun, Dean. I'm not running out on you boys, but if we get a chance at him, I'm gonna take it. No offense to either of you, but I'm still the best shot around here and we can't afford to miss."

For a minute, Sam flashed back to everything Dean had told him Yellow Eyes had said in the house where they'd run after Jefferson City, but it didn't last long. The tattoo was security. This was _dad_ and he was fine and they were getting the hell out of here and striking out somewhere else. Everything was gonna be alright.

Dean handed it over, barrel first, his fingers slow to unclench from the grip. Dad turned it over in his hand, fingers skimming over the metal before he tucked it in against his side, head jerking quick toward the door. "C'mon. Let's go. You follow me, alright? We need to grab everything and then at the very least change rooms, even if we're not leaving town yet. He probably doesn't know where we're staying but I wouldn't put it past him."

Dean let him go only reluctantly for the walk to the car, brushing up against him just a little on the way. Sam knew how he felt. It hadn't been nearly as close as it could've been but even so, he had the desire to be as close to Dean as he could and obviously, they couldn't be doing that for a little while.

Even different as this had played out he was still on edge with the memories of everything from before, and just before they reached the car he stopped Dean, gripping onto his jacket.

"You should drive."

Dean looked at him like he'd started speaking Greek. "And?"

He pushed him, hand splayed against his chest and lingering there for as long as he dared. "What's with the look? I drive sometimes."

"Yeah...when I need to pass out. Or when you ask. Other than that, it's my car, Sam. Of course I'm gonna drive." He slid into the driver's seat and Sam took the passenger side, smiling, his heart lighter already . This had been an entirely different fight in an entirely different state, but on the off chance something happened, _he'd_ be the passenger and with dad in the truck, no one'd be in the back. If the bad luck with stopping this shit he'd had lately held and Sam died, here, no problem. Or, less of a problem. He just went downstairs a little ahead of schedule.

"I'm not trying to take her away from you, Dean. I'm pretty sure the Impala only has eyes for you."

"You bet she does." He gunned the ignition, Heart pouring from the speakers. "Man, I'm starving. Maybe once we figure out where we're goin' we can tell dad we need to stop for dinner."

"If we're leavin' town we can probably hit up that same diner, get you some more pie." It had been blueberry, and Dean had made ridiculously orgasm-like sounds while he ate it. Listening and watching him lick the fork had been torture, especially when at first Dean had been so wrapped up in the damn pie he hadn't even _noticed_ what he was doing. Of course, it hadn't been much better when he had. He'd only dragged it out a little more, the swipes of his tongue across metal more pronounced, and by the time they left Sam was rock hard and ready to kill him. Or at least make him put those too fucking pretty lips to use. That one he'd managed, and he hadn't even had to wait until they found a motel. Dean had pulled off in a deserted parking lot, stretched out on the seat and sucked him off in the car, taking him as far as he could and letting Sam's hips jerk up into his mouth. He'd made the same obscene noises, and Sam had curled his fingers around the back of his head, his own head thrown back against the seat, too fucking hard to watch because he wouldn't have lasted a minute if he did.

That probably wasn't the best thing to think about just then, actually, because even if they went back, he wouldn't be able to get a repeat performance, not with dad waiting on them to follow him. He sighed, his head resting against the window.

"You know I'm always up for pie. Course…" He looked over out of the corner of his eye, voice dropping a little. "Sucking you off in that parking lot, that was pretty good too. But if I have to pick one-"

"You're an ass, you know that?"

"You love my ass."

"Would you just drive?"

"What, so driving and talking are mutually exclusive now? I see how it is. See, that just enforces why the pie's such a better choice."

"Are we talking in general, or just as something to stick in your mouth? Because if it's in general, you can try living with it for a few weeks and I'll watch and see how you two are getting along, how's that sound?"

The cement truck hit from the driver's side, and everything went black.

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	11. Chapter 11

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

When he woke up, Sam realized several things at once.

He was dizzy, he was cold, his head and his shoulder hurt, and the fucking accident had happened anyway. All those thoughts tumbled erratically around in his head, all the more jumbled and fuzzy because at first he wasn't nearly coherent enough to try and focus on just one. When he woke up enough that he could move his head he rolled it from side to side, realized that at least he _could_. He could feel a bump on the back of his head, probably from the window or the roof because he'd been turned nearly sideways talking to Dean, and the pain in his shoulder had to have come from its awkward angle to the seat for that same reason.

He cracked his eyes open, saw harsh light and squeezed them shut, his head throbbing, but it had been enough to wake him. The headache and the cold got pushed violently out of his thoughts, irrelevant, and _Dean_ occupied every single one of them. He sat up abruptly, gasping, his hands reaching at the tube in his arm. He had to get up, had to get moving, had to find his brother, because if Dean-

"Please, sir, you've been in an accident, you need to calm down."

He could distantly realize that his heart rate monitor was nearly beeping off the charts, and that was probably what had drawn her in from the hallway. It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting out of this damn bed and getting to Dean, and he couldn't do that with her pushing at his shoulders and his hands like she was.

"Lemme go." He wasn't sure if she'd be able to hear the panic there or not, but _he _could.

"Sir, please, your shoulder was dislocated and severely strained in the accident and-"

"I'm fine, I've had it dislocated before; where's my brother?" The words all ran together, one rambling sentence with the only part of it he cared about tacked on at the end.

"Sir, if you could-"

"_Where the hell's my brother_!"

She looked almost frightened, and he probably couldn't blame her, but at the moment he was just relieved. Maybe now she'd pay attention. "Mr. Winchester, your brother…he isn't conscious right now. You have to understand, his injuries are severe and we're doing the-"

"Get this off me." He tugged at the IV line, and again she tried to push his hand away.

"I promise, he's being taken care of, but you've been injured as well and you need-"

"You take this off me or I swear to God I'm ripping it off." He _had_ to have looked more than a little crazy. God knows he felt it. "Look I'm fine, and you can't force me to stay in this bed if I can move. I will call someone else and check myself out against medical advice so just _take it out_ and tell me where he is."

He was about two seconds from reaching over to yank the thing out regardless of what it felt like when she stretched his arm out, nimble fingers removing first the needle and then the IV catheter, putting immediate pressure on the site. When he tried to pull away she held on firm, other arm up to block his other hand from breaking her grip.

"If I don't put pressure on it you'll just start bleeding everywhere." Her lips were pressed in a thin line, and the look on her face still seemed somewhere between scared of him and frustrated at his behavior.

"What all's wrong with Dean? Is our dad here?"

"As far as I know, his head injury is the biggest concern, and it's also why he hasn't woken up. We won't know anything else until he does, _if_ he even…" She at least was kinder than the other doctor, but it didn't matter. The fucking room was spinning, and her thumb was still digging into his skin. "Your father was sitting with him, last I saw. He came to check on you a couple hours ago as well."

"Where's Dean?"

"Down in ICU. Give me another minute and I'll point you in the right direction." She checked her watch, and her eyes flicked up to meet his. "He's your big brother?"

There was no way he could answer that without sobbing, and he didn't even try. It was rhetorical anyway.

"Think he'd want you to stay put, take care of yourself."

That was as much as he could take. He yanked his arm away, rubbed briefly at the site where the needle'd been before he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, checking to make sure he had his feet. His clothes were in the corner and he went to them immediately, shaking out his jeans.

"How do I get to him?"

She seemed to hover between coming over to help him and leaving, and leaving appeared to win out. "On the second floor, end of the hallway, but Mr. Winchester I have to ask that after you've seen him-"

"Just get that paperwork for me to sign; I'm fine." _Fine_. He'd rarely been farther from it.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

He remembered this with perfect clarity, down to the whir and click of the machines and how damn pale Dean looked under these hospital lights. He was tan normally, full of life and color from doing so much work outside in the sun. When Sam walked into a room his eyes lit up just a little brighter green, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled but now…

"Hey, Dean. 'M here." His voice wavered, a sob choking out at the end and drowning anything else he'd been about to say. His fingers wound painfully tight around Dean's, and his empty stomach heaved when his eyes scanned over his brother's body. There was a bandage on the back of his head, a tube down his throat, and they'd taken off the amulet. They shouldn't've been allowed. No one could touch it but the two of them, and no one could _remove_ it but Dean, by his own choice. It wasn't right.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of Dean's hand, soothing. "They told me I've been out about a day. Think I hit my head a little too." He licked his lips, tasted blood. "Dean, I know you can hear me. I _know_ you can, and…and it's gonna be ok. I promise. I just need you to hold on for me for awhile, ok? Just…I know there's…" He could hardly say the word, not in connection with his brother. "There's a reaper after you, I know, but don't go with her, alright? You gotta stay with me. You promised, remember? You promised you wouldn't leave." This was killing him, and as much as he hated to leave Dean's side he wanted a little bit less of a one sided conversation. Not to mention, there were other things, things he hardly wanted to acknowledge much less think about but that hovered at the back of his mind all the same, prodding sharp at his every thought. His mind had slipped into one track out of self defense, and right now Dean was the only thing he could see.

He leaned over to kiss Dean's forehead, hand brushing against his cheek. "Just wait for me. I'll be back and we can talk, alright? I won't be long."

His eyes blurred with tears as he left the room, and he was halfway down the hall before he'd finished swiping them away. It was a good thing, too, because seeing a little clearer, he was able to see who was coming up from the stairwell, and the rush of a dozen conflicting emotions nearly drove him to his knees.

"Dad!"

"Sammy." He reached out to wrap Sam in a strong hug, and he squeezed too hard against his shoulder. When he let go, Sam just wished he could've held on tighter. He smiled when he pulled away, hand lingering on his good arm. "You don't know how good it is to see you up; they said you hadn't hit your head like Dean but you were out so long I was gettin' worried, kiddo."

" 'M fine, dad."

"Yeah." He hunched his shoulders, hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. "How's Dean?"

Considering how their lives had gone, there were a lot of things he could do. He'd watched his brother die more times than he could count, been to too many funerals, said more than his share of things he'd rather never said at all, but having this conversation? He couldn't. He absolutely couldn't. Tears stung at his eyes and he turned around, slamming into the bar on the door to the stairwell, pushing it open so wide it banged into the wall.

"Sammy, hey, I know he doesn't look good, but I promise-"

_God_, he couldn't hear it. He wasn't strong enough for this, not _this_. "When did you call Bobby?"

It didn't take too long for the understanding to dawn in his eyes, and when he did he leaned back against the wall, his voice echoing softly down the empty stairwell. "Yesterday. He'll be here late tonight."

Sam felt his knuckles bruise against the wall before he even realized he'd punched it. The second hit left blood on the white brick, and dad caught his hand, trapping it and pulling Sam just a little away from the wall.

"Sammy, Sammy, stop it, alright? It's ok. It's ok."

The last time he'd cried in front of his dad he was 9. They'd been training and he'd broken his wrist, and dad had told him he couldn't let _anything_ hurt him like that, no matter what it was. He was big enough, strong enough that he could keep it to himself. Mostly all it had meant was that if he broke, he kept it together until he was alone or with Dean. Either place was just as safe.

This, though, this went deep enough that he couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried. Sometimes, things hurt like hell beyond the point of reason, beyond the point of anyone's ability to control.

"It's not." His voice broke, and he reached for his dad's jacket, meaning to push him away but he couldn't manage, his grip tightening painfully instead. "I can't…I can't let you…"

"Yes you can. Sammy, yes you can. This is _my_ choice." His voice was strong, steadier than the tears Sam could see pooling in his own eyes. Even as strong as he was, it seemed there were still some things that hurt him enough, too. "You two're all I've got, and I'm not gonna let Dean die. Not if I can help it."

"Then we find something else! I'm sure there's something, anything, we'll look, we haven't even looked, maybe we can kill the reaper here, maybe…I don't know, I don't know, but dad, you're all we've got too. And Dean, what this is gonna do to him, you don't understand." He was rambling, words careening quick and unsteady. It all seemed wrong and out of order and still not enough.

"No, Sam, _you_ don't understand." His voice was just a little harder, just a little more steady, and it echoed back to a thousand things Sam remembered, a thousand orders and reassurances that he used to only half take to heart. Their eyes met, and his mind stopped racing just long enough to pay attention. "You're my boys. A father takes care of his children, no matter what; that's what it _means_. And I've tried. Sam, I know we haven't always agreed on that, but I swear I've always-"

"_No_, I know you-"

"-Just _listen_. I've always tried, but I have to do this. I won't watch him die. I _can't_."

"So I've gotta watch you die? That's just it?" Even to his own ears he sounded like he was four all over again, and he felt guilty as hell at the way he could nearly feel dad flinch, his eyes shutting briefly, tight and pained.

"No. No, you go back in there and you sit with your brother, and you two stick together, and you never tell him a damn thing about any of this. You understand?"

"No, sir. I don't." But he _did_. Deep down, he understood all too well. Even though Dean would find out anyway, even though this was just a repeat of the spiral they'd started sliding down before, this was how it had to go.

He patted Sam's shoulder, squeezing gently before he pulled away, carefully untangling Sam's fingers from his jacket. " 'M gonna go sit with him for awhile. You should go back down to your room and get some more rest, Sammy."

As if he could sleep right now, even if he'd wanted to. Honestly, oblivion would've sounded pretty nice. He'd just barely turned away when Sam darted forward, catching his arm and pulling him back.

"Dad, no wait, I-"

"I'll come see you later. Just go get some sleep."

He wouldn't put lying past him at this point. After all, before he'd sent him out for coffee to distract him. Just like Dean, dad still saw him as the little boy that needed protecting. Well, right then he felt pretty damn close to it, but he _wasn't_, and he hadn't been for a long time. But if this was the last time he ever saw him alive, there were things he _needed_ to say.

"I forgave you. A long time ago, actually, and I haven't…it's been a long time since I was angry. I don't _care_, not about normal or soccer or the fact that I graduated a year late, I don't care because we're family, and we mean more to each other than most people ever come close to and you did everything for us you could and…and I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long."

He was still facing away, his hand on the door, and Sam wished like hell he could've seen his face. "It's ok, Sammy. I know."

When the door shut, he let his knees give out and he sank down onto the cold concrete stairs, knees bent close to his chest.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

In the end, he hadn't gone out for the Ouija board like he'd meant to. It was all too close, not enough time, though he'd been back to see Dean after dad had left. He'd talked to him , though, and he'd had that feeling just like before that Dean was _right there_ watching him, talking right back to him. This time, though, he'd been able to feel his presence just that little bit stronger. He was more tuned in to Dean than he'd ever been to anyone.

After that Bobby'd come in, and he'd run down to his room, not surprised to find that dad wasn't waiting for him. Everything that he'd said, in dad's mind they'd probably already said goodbye. Fuck that. It hadn't been enough, not nearly enough, but he also knew that nothing ever would be. He hadn't been ready to let dad go before, and even though he _should've_ been more ready now, being closer to him like this it just felt worse.

But under all that pain, there was the truth.

It hurt, _God_ it did, but there were levels. The honest, ugly truth was that part of him was more than a little bit relieved. Grateful, to be _absolutely_ honest. Because if it came down to a choice between dad or Dean, it _wasn't_ a choice. It hadn't been a choice before between Dean and the world, and it never would be. Where his brother was involved, there was always only one answer: Dean had to be alright, no matter what it took. Even this, and the thought made him sick.

This was his penance, and it wasn't nearly enough.

It was dark in the boiler room, and that was why it had been one of the first places he came to check for dad. He'd ducked into a couple other empty spaces first, including a supply closet, but it was here that he'd seen him, and he understood why. It was pretty secluded down here, and the odds no one was gonna show up were pretty good. Dad had taught them well, and Sam could be pretty damn quiet when he needed to. He'd taken up residence in the corner, back behind some machinery, and the view he had of dad on the floor was slim, between a gap in the pipes. Still, it was enough. He didn't want to stay, didn't _want_ to see, but he felt like he had no choice. In a lot of ways, this was on _him_ now. He knew, he could've stopped it, and he was letting it play out anyway. He deserved for that to hurt as much as humanly possibly, to see the consequences of his inaction with his own eyes. If he'd been a better son, he'd be out there stopping him right now. At this point, the only thing in his life he could hope to be was an alright brother. He was pouring everything he had into that, and just maybe it'd be enough.

If Dean was alright in the end, for Sam it'd be worth it. He'd long since stopped being able to tell if that was wrong.

From the drop of blood into the sulfur to the flare of light Sam felt like he was watching a nightmare he'd already had a hundred times. He and Dean had been over and over this in their minds, wondering _exactly_ how it went down. They had everything right but the details.

"It's no trick. I will give you the Colt and the bullets, but you've gotta help Dean. You've gotta bring him back."

He wasn't sure if it made him feel worse or better to know that at least initially, he'd tried for something that didn't involve his soul.

"Why, John, you're a sentimentalist. If only your boys knew how much their daddy loved them."

The anger he felt just _hearing_ that thing say his name was palpable, burning in his throat. He wanted to lash out, to draw his attention, to remind the goddamn bastard that _he_ was the one he wanted. He was the one it had always been about, never them.

"It's a good trade. You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean."

"Don't be so sure. He killed some people very special to me. But still you're right, he isn't much of a threat. And neither is your other son. You know the truth, right? About Sammy? And the other children?"

He stared him down, his fury plain even from this distance. Sam knew the look; he'd seen it half a dozen times in his life. The last time, it'd been directed at a werewolf that clawed the hell out of Dean, and he'd pumped its body so full of silver it'd been a waste of a few bullets. If he hadn't needed him, Sam was pretty sure he'd have put a bullet between the damn thing's eyes right then.

_A father takes care of his children, no matter what; that's what it __**means**__._

He could've seen the evidence of that his whole life, if only he'd been looking. He's spent so much time focusing on the ways dad _hadn't_ been there for him that he'd missed all of the ways he always had.

"Yeah. I've known for awhile. It doesn't mean anything."

"Oh I'm afraid it does. You see-"

"Can you bring Dean back? Yes or no."

"No. But I know someone who can. It's not a problem."

He knew his father well enough to see that he didn't accept it. He probably had, before, but there was too much he knew now. Namely, the fact that Sam wouldn't have panicked if the only thing they lost here was the goddamn gun. "Before I give you the gun I'm going to want to make sure Dean's okay. With my own eyes."

"John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?" As if anyone could. He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, and Azazel turned just a little more toward him. "Fine."

"So we have a deal."

"No, John, not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot."

He looked away, and Sam could see the tension ease from his shoulders. This was what he'd been waiting for.

"You know, I kind of expected that."

"Then you agree."

"I do."

"Well then…we _do_ have a deal."

Dad was the one to step forward, confidant now that he'd made his choice, and for this part Sam looked away. He just couldn't watch anymore.

"I'm gonna go up and see him. I'll bring the gun to you when I'm finished." He walked away before Azazel could answer, the sound of boots on concrete echoing as he walked away. The door swung shut behind him, and in the stillness that followed it was a moment before Sam could bring himself to open his eyes.

When he did he was staring into brilliant yellow and he staggered backwards, startled enough that he almost tripped.

"Sammy, Sammy…you know, every time I see you, you just get more interesting."

"It's Sam." He ground the words out between clenched teeth, his heart still hammering as he found his feet. He put what felt like a little more of a safe distance between them, circling to the left and more toward the open. "What are you still doing here? You're supposed to help Dean."

"And you think that took me more than 30 seconds? Please. You know, you're always underestimating me; it's a bit discouraging."

"What the hell do you want?" He wasn't sure he'd ever wanted to kill him so much as he had right then. Considering he'd had a vendetta against him from the moment he could understand why he didn't have a mother, it was a little unbelievable to find that he was actually still capable of hating him _more_.

"Just a minute with you. After all, we are _blood_, you and I, aren't we?"

He couldn't stand here and listen to this, and if he attacked him, he'd get nowhere unarmed like he was. He turned his back and went for the door, and he'd almost made it before his voice stopped him, low and poisonous.

"You're not as _good_ as you think you are, you know. Offering up your father to save your brother, that's not exactly heroism, Sammy. He doesn't blame you for it, not now, but I wonder what he'd say if he _knew_ what the two of you-"

He whirled back, nearly shaking with rage. "_You shut the hell up_!"

He shook his finger in the air, grinning. "Temper, temper. I've always liked that about you. There's just that little bit of _animal_ in you, just that edge you can't quite control, and you know it. But you think that just because you _want_ you can change what you are? Sammy…" He stepped out of the shadows, slinking closer. "You can't change what you are, kid. And you can never be the warrior for God you'd like to be, so why don't you just _accept_ that maybe everything you should be is already-" He reached out, tapping his chest just over his heart. "Right here."

Sam shoved his hand away, his skin crawling. "You're wrong. And I'm gonna prove it, but you won't live to see it." He forced a smile, rigid and hateful. "You know why? Cause my brother's gonna kill you. And I'm gonna love watching it happen."

"We'll see about that. Even if he does, I know exactly where you belong in the end, Sam, and it isn't with _Dean_."

"You're wrong." The only place he ever _could_ belong was with Dean. He'd never fit anywhere else but with his brother everything snapped into place, complementing each other just the way they'd been made to.

That time, he was able to make it all the way out the door.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

When he came in, dad was already beside Dean's bed. Dean was sitting up, alert and looking whole and strong and at that first moment the relief really did overpower everything else. He stopped just inside the doorway, and he caught Dean's eyes.

"Dean."

"Hey, Sammy." Dean smiled for him, and Sam knew then that Dean couldn't possibly _know_. Dad couldn't have said anything to him, because there was still just a little bit of innocence in his eyes, and hearing that anything even close to what he had before would've stripped that from him for good.

Dad's hand slid from Dean's shoulder, patting it lightly one more time. "Think I'm gonna go get some coffee." He looked back over his shoulder, eyes raking over Sam like he hadn't seen him in years and he couldn't take the sight in enough. It took everything Sam had not to look away. "Sammy, why don't you stay with your brother? I'm sure he still needs his rest." One last look at Dean and he was heading out the door, and Sam barely felt the weight of the hand that lingered for a minute on his shoulder as he brushed past.

"Sammy, you-"

"Dean, wait here." _God_ he looked confused, something that had to have been hurt flickering in his eyes, and Sam held his hand out, reaching toward him as if he could actually touch him from here. "Wait. I'll be…just wait." Dean would be there when he got back. He'd be angry, sure, but Sam couldn't help it. He couldn't let himself miss this. "Dad!"

He hadn't made it too far down the hallway and at least he stopped when Sam called his name. He'd been half afraid he wouldn't. He didn't look back, but he could hear the sound of Sam's hurried footsteps approaching and he started in the minute he was sure Sam could hear him.

"Sammy, go back."

"No."

"He's gonna need you."

Yeah, he was. They were gonna need each other, but right _now_, he couldn't back down. Not on this. Their eyes met, and Sam shook his head once, defiant. "You're not gonna do this alone."

"Sam-"

"_No_."

He sighed, his shoulders sagging, and Sam hated how easily he gave in. He'd made his decision and Sam knew a little bit about how that felt. He didn't regret it, but staring it down…Sam hadn't come this close yet, but he'd thought of it a couple times and he'd seen it in Dean. No one wanted to look down the barrel of hell alone.

"You're too stubborn for your own good, you know that?"

"Well considering Bobby says you're the most bullheaded person he's ever met, I'll take that as a compliment."

He smiled, just a little but enough that Sam knew he understood everything in that that Sam had meant for him to. Dean had told him in anger once that he and dad were practically the same person, and now more than ever he couldn't see that as anything but a good thing. No matter what dad had done wrong, the right he'd done far outweighed it, and Sam couldn't have been prouder at the thought that at his heart, no matter what else he was, he was still first and foremost John Winchester's son.

He finally nodded, and he led Sam two more rooms down to an empty one on the left. It was Tessa's body they faced, her eyes marbled yellow, and dad held his hand out to make Sam stay back as he went forward to place the gun on the table.

"Ok."

Azazel's pulled the gun into his hands slowly, almost purring as he turned it over in his hands. "Such craftsmanship, wouldn't you say? They don't make 'em like _this_ anymore." His eyes flickered over dad's shoulder, his smile widening. "Do they, Sammy?"

"You talk to _me_." It came out as a growl, and Azazel laughed.

"Alright then." He held his hand out, thumb rubbing briefly over the tips of his fingers, and Sam stepped forward, just close enough that dad'd be able to see him out of the corner of his eye. That was the point of this, after all. No one should have to die alone. "Goodbye, John."

Azazel touched his forehead, and his body crumpled. Sam was _just_ able to catch him, arms wrapping tight around his body, slowing the fall as Sam dropped to his knees. One arm cradled behind his shoulders, his other hand tightening in his shirt, and though he couldn't help the whispered 'dad' that choked out of his throat, he knew it was already over. The last time he'd seen someone he loved die it hadn't been this quick or this painless, and for that he could at least be grateful, even if it didn't really make him feel any better.

He held on tight, tears already streaming down his cheeks, and it was a second before he remembered that he needed to call for help. Even if it did no good, that was all part of their job. Keeping up appearances. With this, he didn't want to, didn't want to have to let go just yet.

When they came the nurses pulled him away, ushering him out into the hall, and all of it faded into white noise.

For the second time in his life his father was dead. He was breaking, but it didn't all hit home until he felt familiar calloused fingers wrapping around his arm.

"Sam?" There was real fear there, and Sam's head was spinning too fast to answer. "Dad!" The second he caught a glimpse of his face he lurched forward, and Sam caught him around his chest, holding him back. He turned away from the scene, from the sounds and the panic, and after he'd buried his face against Dean's neck, he could feel everything crumble into immeasurable pieces.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;


	12. Chapter 12

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They always stayed close enough to feel the fire.

The first hunter's funeral Sam could remember had taken place in November the year he was 11. His name was Dillon Castille, and he'd died taking on a ghoul in Nevada. He'd stood between Dean and Bobby, and the three of them had watched the flames. He could still remember the heat on his face, how right then everything they did and everything they risked had all seemed that slightest bit more real.

Dean had slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in against his side, and it hadn't made him forget, but he'd felt safe and just a little less overwhelmed, and that had been enough.

Sam pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes, rubbing until he saw stars. He'd cried too goddamn much lately; it seemed impossible he even had anything left.

"Did he say anything to you? Before?" He had to know, he had to be sure.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dean shake his head. "He just told me…" He licked his lips. Sam could see the fire reflected in his eyes, flickering and dancing, masking the green and catching on the welling tear at the corner of his eye. "Said to look out for you, and that he was proud. I thought it was weird, but I didn't…I just didn't connect it."

Sam hated himself a little for how shocked he was that dad had kept his word not to say anything to Dean, but mostly he was just relieved. The less Dean knew about the potential of what Sam _could_ become the better, because he was never gonna go there. It'd just be one more thing to drag him down.

"Did he say anything to you?" His voice shook, and Sam buried his hands in his pockets. He wanted to reach out to him, but he knew that just then, Dean wouldn't accept it. No matter how close they'd become over the years, this law was universal. When Dean's walls came up, they came up all the way.

Sam looked away, staring steady into the flames. "No. Nothing."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"What're you readin'?"

Sam jerked, slamming shut the book that was in his lap. "Huh?"

"That book you're not lookin' at, you gotten anything out of it?" Bobby was leaning against the doorway, two beers dangling from his hand, and when Sam looked back he held one out. It was cold, fresh from the fridge, and his fingertips slipped on the condensation as he took it.

"Guess I hadn't been paying too much attention for the past hour or so, but I read a little." A paragraph, at least. Mostly he'd been sitting here on the back porch with his feet kicked up against the railing, trying to pretend to read while Dean worked on the Impala, music blaring loud enough that Sam could just barely make it out even across the distance. He'd gone through Ozzy, Three Dog Night, Cheap Trick and Deep Purple before he'd started back at the beginning. The past week, he'd been at the car from sunup to sundown and for most of that time Sam's ass had been perched from some sort of 'safe' distance, watching him.

"Just what are you waitin' on, Sam?"

Everything, it felt like. He was waiting for Azazel to call him to Cold Oak, waiting for Lilith, waiting to die, waiting for Lucifer. At the moment, he was waiting to see a glimpse of his brother that wasn't all bravado and the mask he gave to the general public.

"I can't talk to him while he's like this, Bobby. Most he'll tell me is that he's fine, that I'm just projecting onto him that…" He shook his head, threw his hands up in the air helplessly. "That he's really fine." And most of the time, he looked like he believed it, too. Even knowing him as well as he did, there were some things Sam still didn't know. For instance, he'd never figured out if Dean was really so good at faking it that he convinced even himself, or if inside he _knew_ the truth and it was just the world he kept fooled. Neither were healthy, but the second was better, because if he at least _knew_, then it'd be less of a shock to him when it broke free. It was a shock to him anyway, it seemed, but that would be better than having himself buy into his own delusions.

"Well I got news for him, neither one of you boys are 'fine'. But you aren't supposed to be." Bobby usually knew better than most people when to leave something the hell alone, and he went to head back inside, old porch boards creaking under his boots.

"Bobby? Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" By the dread in his voice, Sam could tell he hadn't really needed to ask for that clarification.

"What he was going to use it all for, everything he asked you to bring him. Did you know?"

He leaned against the doorframe, let out a heavy breath that seemed to drag him down. "I suspected. How do you-"

"I just do." He wasn't ready to share that story with Bobby, not yet. He'd had enough of the way they looked at him when he said what all this had cost.

"Does Dean?"

He had to. No matter how many times he ragged on Sam for being the smart kid, there wasn't much difference between them. He was the smart kid that had loved school, and Dean was the smart kid who'd never applied himself. If he'd tried, he'd have made it into college long before Sam, easy.

"I think he suspects. But no, he doesn't know for sure."

"Well then you better tell him. Because I think the only thing worse than hearin' someone died for you, is bein' kept in the dark about it."

Worse was a bit of a stretch. Well. Probably. He could remember exactly how he'd found out Dean sold his soul for him, and yeah, it probably was true that the minute that had felt the absolute _worst_ out of that whole night was hearing the confirmation of it from Dean's lips after his brother had already point blank told him that no, he hadn't made a deal. Still. Dean already knew enough; he had to know the truth. Sam rubbing in his face _exactly_ what had happened wasn't gonna help anybody. At least, that was what he was telling himself.

Right now, his problem wasn't Dean not dealing with what John had done, it was Dean not dealing with anything, period. He'd retreated into his 'happy' mechanic shell, and nothing else outside it really seemed to exist. There were things Sam could never say, like the fact that last night they'd fucked up against the wall before bed, and he'd almost wished they hadn't. Dean would've probably called him a girl for thinking it, and yeah, maybe it was crazy, because it'd been _sex_, sex with _Dean_ no less and sure, it'd been good. It was always good. But that was the thing…sex with Dean was always something _else_, even when they were fucking each other's brains out, and until this week he'd never felt like just a warm body to Dean. Yeah, it was still sex, and he'd have had a near impossible time turning it down, but he hadn't really wanted it either. Not like that.

All of that, that was the kind of thing he could never bring up, the kind of thing that had to resolve itself after bringing up _other_ things. Like the underlying problem that Dean refused to acknowledge.

Sam pushed up out of the rocking chair, and he went out to where Dean was bent over the hood, tinkering with the engine. The music was nearly deafening this close and he reached over to turn it down, coming over to lean back against the car.

"Hey."

"Hey." Dean glanced up, caught sight of the beer in Sam's hands. He wiped grease off on his jeans and held his hand out, questioning, and Sam handed it over without a thought. He drank deeply, like he was dying of thirst, and he nearly drained it before he handed it back to Sam, only around an inch in the bottom remaining.

"So…comin' along alright?"

He shrugged, his attention focused back on the intricate workings of the car in front of him. "She's alright. Still not gonna be up and runnin' for awhile, but she's comin' along."

"Anything I can help you with?"

He laughed, short and sharp and still too forced. "No thanks, Sam. I'd like to put her back together, not take her apart."

He kicked at the dirt, watched the cloud of dust rise up around the toe of his boot. This was maddening. "Dean, don't do this."

"Don't do what exactly, Sam?" He actually _looked_ at him then, eyebrows raised, and Sam almost backed down.

"Shut down on me like this. I know this is hard, it's hard for both of us, but-"

"Sam, I don't know how many times I'm gonna have to tell you I don't need to talk. I'm fine." So 'fine' that he busied himself pretty quick, moving away from the car and heading back into the garage to search out some parts.

"No, Dean, you're _not_ fine. You're as fucked up as I am, but the difference is, I can admit it. I can admit that I miss him, and this is _killing_ me, and I don't know what to do, but you, you're acting like none of it happened, and Dean, I know you, man, this isn't good, and sooner or later you're-"

"_I'm fine_." He ground the words out low and harsh, and almost as soon as he'd said it his mask snapped back into place. "Look, maybe I haven't done the right thing here, and I'm sorry. If you need to talk to me, you know you can. Just…I dunno, yell at me, tell me you've got something to say, anything, and you know I'll listen, but don't worry about me. There's nothing for me to talk about, Sam, I'm fine."

Sam had followed him in under the shade of the garage while he was talking, and Dean stopped on his way out, reaching up with the hand that wasn't juggling parts to pull Sam in for a quick kiss. It was more going through the motions than a gesture of affection, and Sam turned around, almost ready to actually bring that up.

Dean was already buried back under the hood of the car, humming along with Never Been To Spain, and Sam knew that trying to get any further just now would be like talking to a brick wall.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''

It wasn't time yet for the zombie girl, but he'd known something was gonna bring it all to a head.

Nearly three weeks to the day after it had all gone down in Richardson, they ran into the spirit of a girl who'd died for her best friend. There'd been a robbery at the convenience store where they'd stopped to get gas, the guy'd gotten jumpy and fired, and she'd jumped in front of her. Sam had never really thought it was fair that over time most spirits became violent anyway, even the ones of good people like that, and the case as a whole had been pretty damn draining.

It was after that that Dean had pulled the car over on the side of the road somewhere in Alabama, looking down at a lake with emerald green water. Sam leaned up against the hood beside him, and when he leaned into Dean just a little he was glad to feel him lean right back.

"Sammy, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Dean." Really, he didn't. If anyone in the whole world understood Dean and his moods(and honestly, no one probably did, not even Dean), it was Sam.

"Sure I do. The way I've been actin'…point is, I'm sorry." He shifted just a little farther down on the hood, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun. "And for dad. I mean, he was your dad too, I shouldn't be actin' like I'm the only one that lost somethin' here. It's my fault he's gone, and I'm sorry for that too."

"Dean…" He didn't even know where to begin. Before, he'd been able to talk as freely about this with Dean as he wanted, because all it had been were suspicions. They'd _both_ been blindsided by what dad had done, and it'd been alright for him to agree that he suspected it _then_. Now, he knew for certain, and he couldn't lie to Dean and tell him that he didn't any more than he could tell Dean the truth.

"No, I know you're thinkin' it. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. I make a full recovery, then dad's gone and the Colt's nowhere? It had to be, Sammy, you know it, and it's all because of me."

"Dean, you can't-"

"I can. I know it, and you do too. There's no way to look at this other than to see that he died for me, and that…" There were tears in his eyes, and Sam ached to reach out to him. "You and dad…you're the most important people in my life. And thinkin' that in some form or other you're both gonna end up dyin' for me, that's more than I know how to even _start_ to deal with, so I get that you want me to talk to you about this, Sam, but I'm tellin' you, I don't even know what to say."

"Dean, I know that…I know it's too much. But dad doing what he did, he did it because you're his son and he couldn't watch you die. He didn't really have a choice." It was easier to think of it that way, and it helped a little that dad had made it seem like it was true. Maybe it was being a father or maybe it was being a Winchester, but when it came to sacrificing for them he'd never really made any choices, he'd just done what needed to be done.

Dean said nothing, and when Sam reached up to brush a tear at the corner of his eye away, Dean leaned over just enough to keep them from touching. "Don't, Sam."

However hard it had been not to tell him everything he knew, it was a hell of a lot harder to pretend that didn't hurt.

"You want me to drive for awhile?"

Dean nodded, and he pulled the keys out of his pocket and dropped them in Sam's hand. "Sure. Thanks."

In the car, he curled up with his head against the door like he did sometimes when he was really tired, but Sam was pretty damn sure he didn't sleep.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It was past midnight when Dean brought it up again. They'd stopped for the night in Starkville, Mississippi at the Starkville Motor Court, and Dean had been quiet almost since dinner.

When Dean finally said something, Sam was digging around in his bag searching for a clean pair of boxers and thinking about the fact that tomorrow they should probably do laundry before they left town.

"I need you to tell me something."

At first, his head was still mostly on the whole laundry thing, so he didn't hear the quiet edge to the words. They didn't have any detergent left, either. "Yeah?"

"Do you know something?"

There, he started to realize that he should probably be paying attention. "Do I know what, Dean?"

Dean got up off the bed, crossing the room toward him. "About dad, do you know something? Because if you do, I think I deserve to know what it is."

This was just what he'd wanted to avoid. There was real calculating anger in Dean's eyes, now, and he knew that even if he tried to deflect, Dean was watching him too closely. He'd already sworn to himself he wouldn't lie to his brother again, but just then it was pretty damn tempting, no matter how much he hated it.

Dean kept coming, and it seemed pretty clear he already knew enough just by Sam's silence. "_Sam_…" He pushed him, hard enough that Sam's back hit the wall. Sam hadn't tried to stop him, didn't even raise a hand back to catch himself. This time, Dean's anger was entirely deserved. He hated himself a little for it, too. Dean shoved at him again, Sam limp enough to let him. "What did you know? What'd he tell you?"

"Everything." The whisper came out before he could stop it, his eyes flickering down. He could say this, maybe, but he couldn't look at Dean while he did it. "I knew everything. Bobby too, he called him down to bring everything he needed and…he told me not to ever tell you. I knew you'd figure it out, but he didn't want you to know, Dean, he was just trying to look out for you, to-"

Dean's fist connected hard against his jaw, and his head knocked back against the wall, sharp pain shooting from both directions. He winced, blinked and refocused on Dean, his hand still clenched and raised back. His left hand fisted in Sam's jacket, shaking him, and Sam pressed his palms back flat against the wall.

"What the _hell_ do you think gives you the right? Either of you!" The words shook with rage, getting stronger as his voice rose. "You don't just fuck with other people's lives however you want, Sam! It's my life, _mine_, and neither of you have any right forcing this on me just because it's what _you_ want! You're so goddamned selfish, both of you, you just take what you want and it's always from _me_." He jerked forward, fist coming halfway before he stopped it, shaking his head and pushing off Sam's chest as he shoved himself backwards, hand lowering. "Well I've had it. Because there is _nothing_ left for you to take. Shoving something like this off on somebody, you had _no_-"

"Yeah, well you did it to me." He spoke quietly, no match for Dean's yelling that had to have been heard at least 3 rooms over. Still, Dean heard him.

"What?"

"You. You did it to me, before." He pushed away from the wall, closing the space Dean had put between them. "April 29th 2007, I was killed, and on May 2nd you went to a crossroads demon and sold your soul to bring me back." Even talking about it now with Dean right in front of him and whole with no memories of hell, it still hurt as much now as it ever had. "They gave you a year and you went to hell and I couldn't save you. You were there for four months, and _you_ put that on _me_. So yeah, Dean, I think I know how you feel, but I know how _you_ felt now too. And you were scared, and you were sorry you hurt me, but you were never sorry you did it." He held his head up, defiant, more certain of this part of his answer than he was of almost anything. "Well neither was dad, and neither am I."

"So you turn around and do the same thing? That's even _worse_."

"You know, you're a hypocrite. You have _no idea_, Dean, you have _no_ idea what it's like, but you wanna stand here and lecture me on how rational you'd act if I was dead? You really wanna test that theory, see how it works out?"

Dean's jaw clenched, his eyes still stone cold. Sam hadn't meant to get angry, he hadn't, but he couldn't really help it. It didn't seem like it mattered at the moment, really. Dean hadn't responded when he'd tried to reason with him, and he was too closed in to respond to Sam's anger either.

When Dean turned and walked out the door, he slammed it behind him.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

When Sam was 15, Dean drove off and left him on some backcountry road in Kentucky.

They'd been fighting about dad and school and what Sam wanted out of both and God knows what else and when Dean had finally yelled that Sam must just wish he had a different family and Sam hadn't immediately said anything, Dean had kicked him out.

At first Sam had been more than ready to leave, and he'd slammed the door with as much force as he could manage and taken off walking back down the road the way they'd come. Dean had taken off, all spinning gravel and receding taillights, and Sam had been glad he went. At first.

He'd made it about 15 minutes before he regretted what he said, and about 30 before he was thinking of calling Dean. At the end of an hour he was sitting against a fencepost trying to make up his mind when he heard the Impala coming. Dean had stopped, not just put on the brakes but actually gotten out, and before Sam could even get up off the ground his brother was there offering him a hand up. Neither of them apologized and they didn't talk about it, but they didn't need to. When he was angry, Dean left. His anger burned out quick and he always came back, but that was just how it was, how it had been since he was a little kid and driving Dean crazy enough that he needed to get out of the room for 15 minutes even if it was just to walk down to the local gas station and buy them something that passed as dinner.

Maybe it was just too much irrational fear showing, but this time he wasn't sure Dean was coming back. He'd been gone a day and a half already, and though Sam hadn't tried to call him, Dean hadn't called either. Sam was trying not to panic, but that was a hell of a lot easier said than done. He'd _deserved_ Dean's anger. Sure, Dean wasn't right about everything, and he seriously needed to understand a little bit of perspective, but honestly Sam hoped he never got it. He didn't want to die just to make Dean see how it felt.

If Dean wasn't coming back on his own, though, that just meant that Sam had to go after him. He wasn't about to let him go, not now, certainly not over this. It was just after sundown on the second day when he finally decided, and he tossed everything into his duffel and hiked to the highway to hitch a ride. It took just under two hours for a man in a beat up red Wrangler to pull over, rolling his window down.

"Where you headed?"

_After my brother_. He shrugged, putting on the smile Dean had told him could con a Navy SEAL. "Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but I can work with however far you're goin'."

"Well, I'm goin' to Kansas City. That'll at least get ya north a ways. That alright?"

"Sounds great, sir, thank you." He folded into the front seat, stretched his feet out in the floorboard over his bag and stared out the window. It was just starting to rain.

"So…what's in Sioux Falls?"

"My uncle. And…maybe my brother. That's what I'm hoping, at least." Not that he really felt like talking about this to him. Not at all. The man nodded, and he didn't push. At least the guy had a good sense of personal space. Or Sam just looked that dejected, he wasn't really sure.

Guessing that Dean had gone to Bobby was a long shot, but right now it was the only guess he had. If he wasn't there, Sam was gonna have to borrow a car and strike out on his own, but he was doing everything he could not to think that far ahead. Looking for Dean across the country wasn't as bad as looking for dad because he _knew_ Dean better, but _needing_ to look for Dean like that…

The last time he'd travelled alone like this, it had been because he'd asked Dean one thing with his words and been hoping Dean understood that he was _really_ asking another, and it'd backfired on him. 'I think it's best if we go our separate ways' had really just meant, 'I need you to ask me to stay'. That was the last time he'd hitched a ride, too. This time, he just needed Dean to tell him they were alright, that yeah, Sam had maybe been selfish, but they were gonna be ok. In the broader scheme of things, apocalypse considered, he didn't really think what he'd done was _all_ that selfish, but he could see how Dean would. But even so, he needed to hear that whatever was between them wasn't gonna suffer for it. Because selfish or not, how he felt about Dean hadn't changed and it never would, and he needed to believe that deep down, even if he tried Dean couldn't stop caring about him either.

After three hours, they stopped for dinner in Memphis. It was barbeque, good like you could only get in Memphis, but he wasn't really hungry. The last time they'd been here Dean had eaten a barbeque sandwich nearly the size of his head, and they'd stopped at Sun Records on their way of town. That had been back in 2004, when it looked like he'd had a whole other life stretched out before him and it was something incredible, something untainted.

Impulsively he pulled out his phone to check it, only to find it must've died awhile back. He'd watched over it nearly obsessively in the hotel room, but his head was only half there and he'd been staring at the damn thing waiting for it to ring so much that he'd apparently forgotten he needed to charge it. He slipped it back into his pocket, tried his best to think about the fact that it didn't matter, because Dean wasn't calling anyway.

"How about you?"

"Hm?" The guy(his name was either Carl or Caleb…Sam hadn't exactly been paying attention) tilted his head, curious, and Sam realized the rest of that question had only been there in his head.

"You asked me what's in Sioux Falls; what's in Kansas City?"

He smiled, wiped his lips against the back of his hand. "My boy. He's just 14 this year. His momma, me and her don't exactly see eye to eye ever since she run out on me for the neighbor's brother, but we were never married and she got custody so I don't exactly have enough rights that I can complain too much without feelin' like I'll lose the right to see him altogether so…" He shrugged, took a sip of beer. "I get up there about 4 or 5 times a year. Tony, he's a good kid."

"I bet he is." At least he had a father, that was something. He probably took it for granted, too, probably told himself he hated the way his father only showed up enough times to count on one hand a year, probably thought that he was getting a bad deal. Whatever he was getting, it was a better deal than not having a father at all. Course, things like that took time to learn, perspective. He'd never appreciated it much the first time around, either.

Back in the car Sam opened the duffel between his feet, rifled through dirty clothes until he found the car charger he'd mercifully shoved at the bottom. He'd almost been sure he'd left it in the Impala for a good few minutes. He held the wires up, shaking out the kinks. "Hey, do you mind if I…?" He gestured at the cigarette lighter, and Carl/Caleb shook his head.

"Nah, that's fine."

He plugged it in, curled the wire around to let it rest against his thigh. It had barely finished turning on when it vibrated, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The little white envelope swirled onto the screen displaying '1 New Voicemail', and his heart ratcheted somewhere up near the roof of his mouth.

He snatched the phone up, pressing 1, and the beat of time it took for the answering service to kick in and ask for his password seemed to take a lifetime.

_You have 1 unheard message. New message: _

"Hey, Sammy, it's me. Uh…I just got back to the room, and you're gone and…" Off the top of his head, Sam couldn't immediately remember the last time he'd heard him this scared. "Sam, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like that, but I was pissed and I just needed some time, you know? I thought maybe with some space I…_dammit_, Sam, where are you? Nobody around here remembers seein' you leave and…look, don't do anything stupid, ok? I…you know I…" He heard the sound of Dean's breath against the phone, hard and frustrated around the words he couldn't get out. "_Please_, Sam, call me when you get this. I get that you might not wanna see me right now, and if you don't, that's…that's ok. Just call me or text me or something, hell, call Bobby if you'd rather, but at least let me know where you are and that you're ok. I need to know you're ok. Sammy, I-"

The message cut off.

"Shit." He swore softly under his breath, drawing the phone down from his ear and rubbing the cuff of his sleeve across the screen, pretending to clean it so he had _something_ to stare at.

"You don't mind me askin', who was that?"

" 'M brother." He was already dialing Dean's number, thumb racing across the keypad to type it almost faster than speed dial could've had him connected.

"The one you're tryin' to meet in South Dakota?"

He nodded, attention already zeroed in on the white noise of the line trying to connect. Dean got to it on the first ring.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean. Hey."

"Oh, thank God." Dean sighed, and Sam's fingers tightened around the phone. "You ok?"

He laughed, short and just a little forced. "Yeah, I guess." Relatively speaking. "You?"

"Well, I feel like I've had a couple years taken off my life but other than that, yeah, I'm alright. Where are you? And what the hell, Sam, I mean I know I shouldn't have left like that but did you really think I-"

"We should talk about this later."

"Oh." Just in one syllable he could hear the twist, Dean's walls sliding back into place. "Yeah, no, sure, if you want some time then-"

"Dean, _no_, that's not it at all, man; I just mean I hitched a ride. If you wanna come pick me up, we can talk once you get here."

Even over the line, he could literally _feel_ Dean's relief. "Where are you?"

"We're just leavin' Memphis. Hang on." He jostled the phone to the side, looking over at the guy whose name he still couldn't remember who'd been nice enough to give him a ride. "Can you drop me off?"

He nodded, slow and easy. "Where'd you like?"

Anywhere, literally. He'd be happy to wait on the side of the road for a few hours knowing Dean was coming to get him. Dean was still on the other end of the line though, and he'd heard that last part.

"Hey, tell him to drop you off at a motel; you can go ahead and get us a room."

Well, that worked. "Just a motel, somewhere along here? Anywhere's fine." Over the phone, he could hear the Impala's engine roaring to life.

"Memphis?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there as quick as I can."

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	13. Chapter 13

So, sorry this was a week instead of four days…I set out to get some work done on that help_chile piece, and I've been able to write about 2 pages. X.X I think it's just a touch of writer's block brought on by working so hardcore on this one for the last month, but, I've still written ahead of where I'm posting at for this so, no worries. My head should be working a little better in a couple of days, and then I'll be able to _really_ get back on track.

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Sam was pretty sure he paced the entire 2 hours it took Dean to get there.

At the sound of a knock on the door he went and threw it open without even bothering to look outside, and though he'd meant to pull Dean into a hug, Dean actually beat him to it. Sam buried his face against Dean's neck and breathed him in, his hands pressing against Dean's back and relishing every familiar detail of having his brother's body _right there_ in his arms. When he let go it wasn't all the way, and he kept a hand on Dean's back as he nearly pulled him in the door.

Now that he was here, it seemed either of them didn't know exactly what to say.

"I thought about what you said." Dean's eyes were darting they way they did sometimes when he was too honest, when he had something to hide. "You know, you're right. I've only really faced almost losin' you once, with that black dog, and I sure as hell wasn't anything near reasonable or even sane so…you're right, I can't tell you what I'd do. Only that I've been thinkin' about tryin' to make a deal of my own ever since I found out about yours, so I guess we can be reasonably sure I _do_ know what I'd do if somethin' happened to you, and it wouldn't be any different than what you or dad did. The fact that we'd all do it, I don't think that makes it right, but it doesn't matter I guess because I would, I'd do it. So I guess I understand. I'm not ok with it." He took a deep breath, rubbed a hand against the back of his neck in a way that looked far too much like defeat. "But I understand."

"Dean, I know where you're comin' from too; I do. And you've gotta believe me, my plan from the beginning wasn't really to go to hell. I mean, I'm willing to do it if that's how things play out, but it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, here." Because if he did, he couldn't guarantee it'd be _him_ that came out. "My plan all along has been to stop it, and I think we can. I really do." He could see _Dean_ in the set of his shoulders, that this was still everything on the _inside_ that Sam was seeing now, everything he'd been careful to lock away for the past few weeks and Sam knew that like this, Dean just might could accept something from him. "I'm not gonna leave you. Not if I can help it. I promise."

"Sam, _don't_."

The word jabbed at him, twisting and sharp, and he fought between shrinking back and trying to get closer. "Dean, I _mean_ it, I-"

"I know you do." Dean's eyes met his and kept looking for the first time since he'd come in, and the raw, drained look in them was enough to tear the hole that had been growing in Sam's chest just a little wider. "I know you do, Sam, but don't do that. Don't promise me something you _can't_ promise. I don't wanna hear it."

"But you don't understand, that _is_ something I can promise!" Sam reached out, right hand curving to rest against Dean's neck. "I didn't say I could be sure to stop it. I just said that as long as I can fight it, as long as there's _anything_ left I can do about it, I'm not leaving you." Because at the root of it, _that_ was what Dean was afraid of. He'd known it already but heaven had drawn it home, complete with Sam's own stupid memories and Zachariah's manipulations.

He stepped all the way in, close enough that his chest brushed against Dean's, and he took his face in his hands. "Dean, what do I have to do? Huh? How can I get you to trust me, because I know, I've messed up a few times but it's always been me tryin' to protect you. Like you've done for me. And so long as I can still fight I'm not goin' anywhere. I _can_ promise you that."

"Sam…" Dean's breath ghosted across his lips, warm and stilted, and his own breath hitched to match it. "I wanna trust you."

"Then do." Sometimes, things really could be that simple. At least, he thought so. It had been his philosophy going into those last days of the apocalypse anyway. Sure, it had looked like they had a snowball's chance in hell, but goddammit, he was gonna keep believing no matter what. Even if there was nothing left to believe _in_, just the act of believing that somehow they were gonna fucking come through had been enough. He'd never know now if it would've been, but he'd liked to believe that that was something that showed how far he'd come, that it was a mark of getting to a point in his life he'd needed to reach, to learn. Sometimes, things just _were_, without any basis, feeding off of force of will alone.

If his belief in winning could be strong enough to hold itself up even under fire, then it made sense to him that their faith in each other could do even more, be even stronger. At least, it seemed like it _should_ be that way.

Dean's hand trailed across his jaw, fingertips grazing the bruise that was only just visible.

" 'M sorry I missed your call. Phone died." He whispered, so close now that if he just stopped talking and titled his head forward just right they'd be kissing. That was probably why he had very little idea what he'd just said.

"I thought…I don't even know." Dean's left hand came up behind his head, tugging on his hair enough to tilt his head to the side. Dean's lips pressed against his jaw, soft enough to break him, and Sam stopped breathing altogether. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've…" He trailed off, fingers tangling deeper in Sam's hair as Dean rested his forehead against him. "Can't believe I did that."

"I can. You've done it a dozen times before." Well, maybe not that many. A few, though. On the list of 'things Dean does when he's angry', hitting people was actually pretty high up there, but he usually went for wrestling with Sam first before he'd actually hit him. That one took some serious anger, and Sam wasn't in any way uninvolved in it. He'd thrown his own share of punches too over the years.

"Not like this." Outright, Dean never knew exactly how to refer to them. It was just 'this', or 'but things are different', or something like that. Not that it mattered, what it _was_ was more important than anything it could ever be called. "It won't happen again."

Sam wasn't ready to bet on that, but it wasn't a question of his trust in Dean or of how much he meant to him, just a matter of his understanding of Dean's temper. If he got mad enough it'd happen and it'd be alright but he'd still regret it, and Sam'd convince him to move on. There was comfort in things like that, the kind of things that never changed in a way that seemed right rather than just inevitable.

Sam pulled Dean close, hands sliding up under his shirt as his lips brushed over the shell of Dean's ear. "Forget about it. I didn't mind." He dipped his head a little farther, just enough to bite at the soft juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder. "Let's just go to bed." Right then, he literally wanted nothing more. He _needed_ to be with Dean right then, craved it worse than he ever had the blood or anything else. He needed the feel of Dean moving underneath him, lithe and powerful even as he came apart under Sam's touch. He needed Dean's hands on his back, strong and steady and grounding, every touch full of that same meticulous devotion he'd had since that first night, showing him he was loved and forgiven, needed and desired.

Dean groaned, his grip tightening, urging Sam's lips against his skin again. He obliged, sucking just a little harder, humming in pleasure low in his throat when Dean stroked the back of his neck. "Yeah. Yeah, I could go for that."

His voice was already just a little bit lower, enticing, and Sam couldn't resist nipping just above the line of his collar one more time before he pulled away just long enough to get what they needed. When he turned back around from shuffling through Dean's bag Dean had already stripped off his shirt and was nearly out of his jeans, and Sam tossed the bottle onto the bed, hurrying to catch up.

Everything after was an intoxicating mixture of slow and lingering and quick and frantic. There was the way Dean's tongue laved at the hollow of his throat, as thorough as he would on a lazy afternoon after a hunt, knowing they could take all day with this if they wanted. At the same time, though, there was the way he moved against him, legs tangling and hips canting up like now matter how soon they got on with it Sam couldn't possibly do it fast enough for how desperately Dean _wanted_ him to. Even hectic like this, they were in perfect synch. Sam's fingers eased inside him, stroking slow and teasing, savoring the familiar sounds that came uncontrolled from his lips, while at the same time his lips roved quick and rough over his neck and chest, marking him like there was another claim he _had_ to erase.

They kissed the same way, a harried back and forth that they both matched easy and natural though it followed no structure. When Sam pulled his hand away Dean gasped into his mouth at the loss, and Sam whimpered like _he_ was the one suddenly empty. When they joined, everything blurred together. They wrapped tight enough around each other that Sam was hardly sure how he could breathe, but he didn't feel like he needed to. There was Dean, and there was nothing between them, and that was enough.

He lost track of time, lost track of everything including where he started and Dean began. He'd heard it before as an expression, but just then he was _sure_ he knew what it really meant. There was heat and want and pure blinding need and they were inseparable, irrevocably bound. His hand pressed against the small of Dean's back, lifting his hips, and Dean's pressed down between his shoulders, and they came together.

When his head stopped spinning enough that he felt like he could breathe Sam tried to pull away, a last sharp stab of pleasure shooting hard through his veins. It was Dean that moaned, and Sam shuddered, turned his head and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck.

Sam had been ready to believe that they had been meant to be. He hadn't been sure all the way what that meant for Armageddon before, if anything, but just then, he was thinking he was gonna have to give that some more thought, because he'd been in love with his brother all his life, but the absolute _power_ he'd felt in whatever it was that had just happened had been enough to show him that apparently, he had no idea what he was dealing with.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

It never got any less weird doing research about yourself.

Granted, it _was_ a little less weird looking into this than it had been researching his psychic demon powers or Dean's deal or their potential future life as vessels, but it was still a little odd to be doing the kind of research he'd been taught to put into cases all while knowing whatever he found was going to have actual relevance to them personally.

So far, though, he hadn't found much. Many cultures had belief in the theory of soul bonds, though several of them differed on what they actually were and what it meant. According to some of the information he found a true soul bond indicated multiple reincarnations, lives shared over and over, possibly even with some sort of ritual performed at some point by the two involved to insure they would continue developing together, permanently joined. Others spoke of souls spilt in two, two complementing or contrasting halves that still shared an overwhelming need to be together. There was too much information, so much he was pretty sure he'd never be able to figure out exactly what he and Dean were, and he'd been just about ready to call it a day when he found something interesting.

It was called a theory of chosen soul bonding, and it was described as stronger and more binding on a deeper level than most soul connections could reach. It came from pure force of will, a choice by both souls to be together, connected in every way for all time. Once initiated, the bond was impossible to severe, and one could not live without the other even in the afterlife, the ability of true independence having been lost in the binding.

Yeah. That sounded just about right, and it meshed with Ash's knowledge that in heaven, only soulmates could share. And if it was, it added fire to his little glimmer of hope. This _didn't_ fit with them both being vessels. In fact, it stood in absolute opposition to it, because if they were bound like _that_, they'd never be willing to say yes no matter what, because a yes for either one of them would mean almost certain death for the other one if not both of them. It was a little head splitting, thinking of it.

Was it really possible for them to have _two_ fates? He'd been dead set against the idea of fate at all before, but this…this didn't sound so bad. It sounded pretty right, actually, and shouldn't whatever their destiny was _sound_ right? If one of the two was going to happen regardless, _this_ made a hell of a lot more sense.

It wasn't until three weeks later that he had some time to spare to look into it a little further, and he called a woman in Tempe, Arizona who'd written a couple of books and seemed to be as close as he was gonna get to an expert on the subject. A lot of what he got out of her wasn't very useful at first, but once he worked her around to ritualistic applications she got a lot more helpful. According to her, any ritual could be strengthened when aided or performed by two bound individuals. The stronger the bond, the more power it would add.

Finally, he was getting somewhere.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

From the minute he got in the car, Sam knew Dean was hiding something. His questions were short, the usual music was absent and he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes. The last time he'd gone this quiet had been back in October, when they'd been on their way to head Gordon off and protect the vampires. Sticking to his word about telling the truth he'd told Dean everything about the case before going in, including pretty much everything about Gordon. It was still the truth, really, he just hadn't clarified exactly _why_ Gordon wanted to kill him beyond the whole demon blood thing. Dean had been pretty quiet at first, listening and agreeing that they needed to get there a good week or so early before the first death and warn the vampires to get their asses outta town, but on the drive to Montana he'd been quiet, and it had taken a few hours before he was willing to tell Sam that when they got there, he was gonna kill Gordon.

He hadn't asked, had made it pretty damn clear it was happening whether Sam opposed him or not, but honestly Sam hadn't really had any fight in him about it. By the time he'd killed him Gordon had killed at least 4 or 5 innocents that they knew of and turned another one there at the end, and he'd hurt Dean and God knows how many other people in his insane quest to kill Sam. Crazy couldn't be reasoned with and the world really _would _be a better place without him, but all the same Dean's attitude had worried Sam, if only a little.

The more Dean was willing to go to _any_ lengths for Sam, the more he was likely to try and do any number of crazy things. At the same time, though, there wasn't a single option that came without any consequences. The minute they started trying to be reasonable they lost something between them, and they headed toward a world that ended with him saying yes in Detroit and Dean being ready to say yes to Michael, too. They couldn't do this halfway; if _this_ was the direction they took, every last bit of them had to go into it, whatever the consequences.

Which was why right then, he knew most of what Dean was going to say before he ever opened his mouth.

"We've only got one bullet left in the Colt." The words were clipped, rough and quick like he just wanted to get the conversation over with with as few questions as possible.

"So let me guess…when you told me you got Evan out of his deal and let her go, that's not how it really went down." Dean's hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and Sam looked back out the windshield at the empty highway. "Yeah, that's kind of what I figured."

"So, get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

Dean shrugged, muttering. "Go ahead, bitch me out about the gun, how we don't need to waste anymore bullets, all that shit."

"Dean…" Sam shifted over in the seat, halfway facing him. "You already know we don't need to waste anymore bullets. And at this point you also realize shooting her just cause you were pissed off didn't solve anything but…" He shrugged. "She didn't take your deal, so no, I'm not really that mad. I don't wanna fight with you about anything related to the deal anymore; it's pointless and we shouldn't be fighting over it anyway. And besides…" And this, this was really the biggest reason. "I know why you did it. I did the same thing."

That at least got him a little bit of a laugh, though it didn't hold any real humor. " 'M guessing the stupid bitch told you the same thing, then."

"That she doesn't hold my contract and she won't tell you who does?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that was it." The glare Dean was giving the windshield looked about like it should've melted the glass, but Sam really couldn't blame him. He hadn't been any less pissed when this particular plan had failed him, either.

"Well, don't worry. Cause she might not have had the contract, but I know who does."

It was a good thing the road was empty. Dean took his eyes off it entirely, turning his head to gawk at Sam like he'd just started speaking Russian. "What the hell, Sam? You couldn't have, oh I don't know, brought this up _sooner_?"

"I didn't cause we don't have a way to get at her right now!" And they wouldn't, not until a few other things that he wasn't exactly ready to think about happened first. "Her name's Lilith, and when we get a chance, we'll have her. And as for the bullets, I'm not really worried, cause I know where that last one goes."

"Oh you do, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head, but Sam could see the corners of his lips almost curving up, just barely holding back a smile. "This knowing how everything turns out thing you've got goin'? It's terrible for your ego, you know."

"Bothers you that I'm the one with the master plan, huh?"

Dean reached over, ruffling his hair over his eyes. "Shuddup."

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

**2007**

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"Alright."

Sam shut the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt without looking down. "Bobby?"

"What in the hell's wrong with Dean?"

Sam swallowed hard against the sudden knot is his throat, tried not to look as suspicious as he felt. Of course, that was hard when he couldn't look Bobby in the eye. "Nothin', he's fine. Why do ask, something happen while I was gone?" God, he hoped not.

"You could say that. He's upstairs, drunk off his ass."

Well. That sounded just _great_. He'd been drinking more for awhile now, and though Sam had definitely started to notice and worry, he'd kept it to himself. He already knew what was wrong with Dean. He shrugged, smiling a little as he slouched against the doorframe. "He's Dean. C'mon, you can't tell me you haven't seen him drunk about 50 times before."

"I have, an' that's exactly what I'm talkin' about! He's usually up for a hand of poker or he's tellin' stories or stealin' my computer for porn and all of _that_, believe me, I'm more than used to as much as I've had you boys around since the time he first started drinkin', but this _isn't_ like that, and I'm not an idjit, son. So do you wanna tell me why I came home to him already half a bottle of Jack down, cryin' and tellin' me that he'd_ failed_ as a brother?"

_Shit_. "I…I don't know, Bobby, there was stuff awhile back that bothered him, dad and everything but…" He couldn't explain, not now. Especially not when he needed to be with Dean. "You said he's upstairs? I'll go talk to him."

"And Sam? I'd also like to know how stupid you boys really think I am." He'd almost made it into the hallway but he froze, reaching out to lean on one hand against the wall with his back still to Bobby. The plunge of ice cold fear was sudden, enough that he felt like if he hadn't had his palm pressed to the wall he couldn't've held himself up.

"What're you talkin' about, Bobby?"

"I'm talkin' about the fact that I hope to hell you two're more careful to keep your cover on hunts than you are here." Sam turned around slow, his mouth too dry to speak. They'd been fearing this for a long time. Well, not 'fearing' anymore so much as just _knowing_ it couldn't get out. He had to be giving Bobby an absolute deer in the headlights stare, but he literally didn't have a word. Not a sound. The weird thing was, though, Bobby wasn't yelling. "Yeah, I know. I've known for a long time."

Oh God. "Bobby, it's-"

"You don't have to explain; I don't wanna hear it." Sam flinched, and Bobby shook his head, hard and adamant. "And I didn't mean it like that. I'm only sayin' however the hell this _happened_ doesn't matter, because I don't think anyone that watched you two grow up'd be overly surprised. Hell, Sam, in this job we see enough that…" He waved his hand, shaking his head a little slower this time. "I don't care. You do what you want. I hadn't condemned you for it for years and I'm not about to start now, but if he's all torn up over somethin' to do with _that_, then-"

"He's not." He realized a little late that he'd said it a bit too quick to sound believable, and he took a breath and started over. "I mean, no. Not really. Something else."

"Hm. If you say so." He pulled his flask from his pocket for a sip, and he'd half turned back toward the kitchen before Sam called out to him.

"Hey, Bobby?" Of course, how exactly he wanted to phrase this got a little jumbled. "Are you…I mean, how are you…you're not mad." Obviously.

"Course I'm not mad, what the hell good would that do?" He took another drink, grimacing at the burn on his tongue. "I can't say I understand all the way, but then how could I? It doesn't matter if I understand or not, I'm not involved. This is between the two of you, and the only part of it that affects me is that you're family. That's it. So like I said, the extent of how much I give a damn about this is only related to if there's somethin' wrong with either of you because of it, which is the only reason I ever even brought it up to begin with. He's screwed to hell over somethin', and if _you_ did this, then you'd better fix it. That's all I'm sayin'."

With that, he walked away and left Sam standing in the hall. He was trapped in a weird mixed state of relief and of still wondering what the hell just happened. The need to go to Dean was still there, though, and it wasn't long before it overpowered everything else and he turned back down the hall and toward the stairs. The top two creaked, wood shifting under his boots. The guest room light was still on, shining out from the crack at the bottom of the door, and he made his way down there as quietly as he could.

He knocked softly first, knuckles barely rapping against the door. "Dean, it's me." He didn't wait for an answer. He turned the flimsy knob and pushed it open, quickly shoving it shut behind him, his eyes scanning and finding Dean where he sat on the window seat in the dark, one knee pulled up against his chest, a far too empty bottle of Jack dangling from his fingers.

"Sam'y" It was just slurred enough to not sound right, just enough that he knew Dean had had _far_ too much to drink. "You're back."

"Yeah. I am." Sam shrugged out of his jacket, went over and tugged the bottle out of Dean's fingers to minimal protest. He sat it down on the hardwood with a clunk, and he pushed Dean's hand away when he reached for it again. "Nah, I think you're done for tonight, Dean. You're really drunk."

"This? This i'n't drunk. I've been…I've been plenty…where'd you go?" Dean tried to sling his legs around off the bench but he couldn't all the way manage and Sam helped him, catching them and shifting their position so Dean could have his feet on the floor, Sam kneeling between his knees.

"You know that, remember? I went out to talk to that hunter that was passin' through, and I stopped and got us some money on the way home."

"Mm." Dean's hands trailed drunkenly through his hair, movements stilted as they came down to trace his face. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Nothin'. Just…nothin'. Wanna kiss you, c'mere." Sam shuffled forward just a little bit, tilted his head up and let Dean kiss him, messy and disorganized. He tasted overwhelmingly of whiskey, and even though Sam usually thought Dean and whiskey went pretty damn well together, at the moment it was just too distracting, a barb to dig under his skin and reminded him of everything Bobby'd said and everything he'd already seen with his own eyes. Dean wasn't dealing, not well and hardly at all, and that couldn't bode well for the future in any form.

Sam rubbed his hands against Dean's thighs, thumb rubbing against a newly fraying tiny hole in his jeans. "Dean, you gotta talk to me, man. You gotta tell me what's wrong, or I can't help you."

"That's it."

"What's it?" He reached for the bottle again and Sam caught his wrist, holding on. "Dean, _what's_ it? Talk to me."

Dean just shook his head, his eyes clenching shut. His next words were whispered through clenched teeth, soft and desperate. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

At first it was like a punch to the gut, and Sam hardly recognized his own voice after he started talking. "Dean, if you didn't want…if you don't-"

"Not _this_." Dean shook Sam's hand off and grasped at his collar, pulling him closer. "That's…I think that's _right_. But this." Yes, because those words were _so_ different and he was making _so_ much sense. " 'M your big brother."

Sam let go of him altogether, reaching up to pinch hard at the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeezed shut. "I know. I know that. But when we talked about it, you said you-"

"_No_, Sam! You don't…" His voice had risen, loud and frustrated, and he shook Sam just a little as his fingers tightened in his collar. "It should've been me goin' to hell, not you! Should've been me doin' all of this, all the hard stuff, everything that I see it's nearly drivin' you crazy to know. 's my job, Sammy. You're my little brother, I look out for you, no matter what and I haven't, I can't, I…I can't do anything. Even if we save you there's not really anything I can do to manage it myself, I mean Crowley, he said-"

"You talked to Crowley?" Goddamn. Well, he wasn't the only one not telling every last bit of the truth.

Dean didn't seem to notice how shocked the question sounded, and he mostly just kept right on going. "Didn't do me any good, he just said I couldn't help you. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to do, Sammy? Just…just sit around and watch you carry everything yourself? I can't…I don't know enough, there's nothin' I can do to help you, nothin' I can do to make it better. Hell, we might not even be able to save you, and that's on me too, you know? I should be able to find something else, some kinda back up plan at least, some…I just…I let you down." A tear slid across his cheek, another hovering at the edges of his eyelashes. "Now, and obviously before because if I'd been doin' my job then you'd have never done this at all; I shouldn't've let that happen. And I'm sorry. I'm supposed to take care of you and -"

"Dean, stop, stop it and listen to me, ok? Please." He was panicking, and trying to get Dean to listen when he was panicking never worked well when he was _sober_. "Dean…" Sam took his face in his hands, held him steady. "_Breathe_. Calm down, and listen to me, alright?" It at least worked well enough to get his attention, but as for what he could say the help…well, there wasn't much, at least not that Dean would be willing to believe, especially while he was like this. "Dean, you're doin' fine, ok? You haven't let me down, not once, not ever."

"Sam…" He tried to turn away, pushing halfheartedly at Sam's wrist.

"No, look at me." He mostly managed. "You've taken care of me my whole life. Why is it so wrong for me to want to look out for you for awhile, huh? What's wrong with that, Dean? Doesn't mean I don't need you to watch my back, and it sure as hell doesn't mean I'm gonna be able to do this all by myself because, Dean, I'm scared, man. There's…there's more, later on, and I'm terrified." There was a certain feeling that came only when thinking of Lucifer, and honestly terrified didn't even begin to scratch the surface of it.

Dean leaned forward, hands reaching and finally bracing against Sam's shoulders, pressing unevenly. "Then lemme help you. 's what I'm for, remember?"

"No. No, Dean, that's not true." Hurt flashed in his eyes, and Sam rushed into the rest of what he had to say before it could take hold. "You're my big brother, yeah, and believe me, Dean, that means _everything_. But you're more than that, too. And we can look out for each other. We do this together or not at all, because Dean, we tried goin' at it uneven before, and it didn't work. It didn't." The more he thought about it now, the more he realized he was falling into the same damn trap. He couldn't stop trying to protect Dean, but he _had_ to stop trying to shelter him. There really was a difference, and so far he clearly hadn't found the right side of it yet.

Being honest and trying to head off problems just wasn't enough. Dean was gonna have to be active in this with him, or everything ran the risk of ending up in a not all that much better place than it had before.

Comforting.

"We were really doin' this together, you'd tell me what scares you."

Dean was so much sharper than he wanted people to think he was. Sam sighed, nodding as he conceded the point. "You're right. And I will." He slid his right hand from Dean's face, patted his shoulder. "When you're sober. C'mon, let's go to bed."

When they stood up Dean's legs wobbled hard, and he leaned almost all the way into Sam even just on the short walk over to the bed. Sam stripped himself first and Dean second, as quick as he could. Dean's body was warm and pliant under his hands, and when his palms pressed against Dean's hipbones as he went to slide his jeans down, Dean made a soft, hungry noise and pushed up into the touch. He looked like sex personified, all tan skin spread out against the sheets, the amulet on his chest gleaming in the moonlight as his back arched just a little, but Sam forced himself to look away. Dean was clearly well past too drunk for sex, and considering how often Dean was _plenty_ capable of all kinds of drunk sex, that really spoke for just how ridiculously much he'd had. Among other things, they were gonna have a talk about that tomorrow too.

Probably sometime after he finished puking.

Sam settled back against the pillow, arms crossed behind his head. Dean rolled over, squirming around until his head rested against Sam's shoulder and Sam couldn't help but smile, his fingers combing through short spiky hair before he kissed the top of Dean's head.

"You throw up on me tomorrow, and I'm gonna kick your ass, Dean."

It didn't matter. He was already out.

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	14. Chapter 14

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"Ready to admit that was too much, yet?"

Dean groaned, curling up tighter on the bathroom floor. "God, lower your voice."

Sam chuckled, reached over to knead gently at the back of Dean's neck. "Sorry, Dean."

"No you're not. You're…cruel and…_oh, _that feels good." Sam had taken advantage of Dean's closed eyes to spread a cold washcloth over them, blocking out the glaring light.

"Yeah, I thought it might. So I'm cruel, huh?"

"Nah, you're awesome." He tilted his neck just a little more back into Sam's hand, though from the sound he made he regretted moving immediately. "Fuck, Sam, I haven't been this hungover since high school."

"Yeah, I know. Think this is worse, actually." There wasn't really all that much to compare to. Dean had only ever been _sick_ twice. The first time dad had helped him through it, though he'd warned that Dean should've learned his lesson, and he wouldn't do it again. The second time Sam had done what he could but he'd been 12 and pretty poorly versed in hangover remedies(though he'd tried checking the internet pretty much right off).

"We're never drinkin' Jack again."

"You say that now." Sam's fingers stroked through the soft hair at the base of his neck, slow and easy. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You remember what we talked about last night?"

"Sort of. I know I was kind of a wreck, and I'm-"

"Don't do that." Sam reached over to turn the washcloth to the cooler side, holding his other hand up as a shield to keep blocking out the light while he turned it. " 'M glad I got home before you passed out, actually, because I think we needed to talk, and I think there's plenty more of it we need to do once you're over this."

"Sounds fantastic. We gonna write a book next?" Except Sam could hear the honesty under the sarcasm, and he could see the way that even in as much pain as he was, the lines on his face eased to be just a little less prominent. Yeah, they definitely needed to talk.

"Oh and uh…Bobby knows."

There was just a little too much silence, enough that he knew Dean was figuring it out, and he could see his skin go just a little paler. He'd thought getting this one over early and quick would be better but maybe-

"Bobby knows what, Sam?"

"Ah…about us. He knows."

That was enough to get him moving. Or at least enough to have him up and leaning over the toilet again, somehow managing to heave up a little more despite how many times he'd already done this that morning. Sam reached out to him, hand squeezing gently at his shoulder.

"Dean, it's ok. Really."

"Why are we still here? We should go, we should-" He sounded tired and a little worried and disappointed, yeah, but he didn't sound ashamed and Sam couldn't help but be grateful for that. Even as crazy as this thing was between them, Dean had never acted ashamed of him, not once, and he could've never put into words exactly how much that meant.

"Dean, literally, _it's ok_!" Really, he could still hardly believe it himself so he wasn't surprised Dean's first thought would've been getting the hell out. "He's not mad. He's ok."

"He's _what_? God…" He tried to look at Sam but apparently the room was still spinning because he leaned back over the bowl, dry heaving.

"Yeah, I don't know he's…he's known for awhile. And he said he's not really surprised and that it's our business and it'd be pointless to be mad…I don't know, man. I was just as shocked as you." He shrugged, settling back against the tub again and letting his hand slide down Dean's back. "I mean, I wouldn't like, shove it in his face or anything-"

"No shit, really?"

"-but I think we don't need to worry about it anymore. Not really anyway." Not that he was planning on kissing Dean in front of him anytime soon or anything like that, but it was nice to know that if Dean was hurt and he wanted to keep him close, he wouldn't be breaking everything out in the open if he did.

Dean let out a shaky breath, leaned his forehead against his arm thrown across the seat. "Please tell me that's all we needed to talk about."

Not hardly. "Ah, no. There's a lot more actually. But it can wait till this afternoon."

Dean raised his right hand to flip Sam off, groaning when Sam's laughter echoed off the bathroom walls.

'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam shoved the cup of coffee into Dean's hands, forcing him to hold onto it. "Drink up."

Dean groaned, pushing the cup to the side so he could stretch out across the table, head resting on his arm. "We really gotta do this now? The room's still spinning, man. I mean, I saw like, three of you a minute ago."

"Well, I'm sorry. But yeah, think we need to do this now." Because if he put it off, he'd just talk himself out of it again. He pulled out the kitchen chair closest to Dean's, spun it around and sat down on it backwards, his arms crossed across the top wooden rung. "So…I'm just gonna say this all really fast, and it's gonna sound-"

"Sam, nothing you could possibly tell me at this point is gonna sound crazy, ok? So just get to it, and then I'm goin' back to bed."

"I need to you to take this seriously."

"Well then _I_ need to not be having this conversation when I've got the hangover from hell."

"Dean…"

Dean sighed, sat up muttering his hands rubbing over his eyes. "Ok. Ok, I'm up, I'm listening, this is important, I got it." And maybe he did, because he wrapped his hands around the coffee mug and pulled it to his lips for a sip, only shuddering a little. Sam reached over to the counter and snagged one of the packs of crackers he'd dug out of the glove box, tossing it at Dean across the table.

"Here. Eat something, it'll help." Theoretically, at least, but he probably wasn't gonna feel like eating after Sam was finished. "So ah…you know I have demon blood."

"Sam, that doesn't mean anything. You can't be gettin' hung up on-"

"Wait, Dean…just let me do this, ok? There's…there's stuff you don't know."

"Yeah, isn't there always." He grimaced, took another sip of coffee and looked away, and Sam's heart fell just a little further in his chest. He scooted his chair closer, reaching out and tapping the table to get Dean's attention.

"Hey. Look at me." Fuck, he looked tired. If Sam had had any faith in his ability to not change his mind, he'd have agreed that now wasn't the best time for this. As it was, though, his faith in his own resolve to let Dean help him was running pretty low. "That's why I'm doing this, alright? I'm gonna tell you _everything_ now. You'll know as much as I do. Or at least, everything important, we can get to the details later."

Dean nodded, and Sam moved on.

"Alright. So ah…what do you know about the 66 seals?"

"I dunno, I'm guessing we're not talking about a show at Sea World, here." His voice was still soft and scratchy from wear and exhaustion but the sarcasm shone right through and Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"No. No, definitely not. It's from the book of Revelation, and it refers to these…these seals, these locks that have to be broken before the devil can be released from his cage."

"Well doesn't that sound wonderful."

"Yeah." He really wished he could've avoided going any farther, just stopping right there and… "There's hundreds of them, but there's only 66 that need to be broken before he can rise." That one he wasn't touching with a 10 foot pole. He'd be alright with telling Dean that he killed Lilith in that church and brought hell on earth, but there was _nothing_ that could make him tell Dean what he himself had done in hell. Not for anything in the world. The less he knew about hell altogether, the better. "Anyway, Lucifer, he's an angel. He rises, and he needs to claim his vessel…remember what I told you about angels and vessels?"

"Yeah. Something to do with the bloodline or something, they take some poor sap, use him up until they're done and then maybe he lives or maybe he's fucked, depending." Sometimes, Sam still wondered what had become of Jimmy Novak. That was how that whole conversation had come up in the first place, anyway. He'd been telling Dean about Cas, and naturally the conversation had drifted around to vessels and the fact that even Cas wasn't innocent. Which really only made him fit into the family just that much more.

"Yeah. Like that." Fuck it. "I'm Lucifer's vessel, Dean." He took advantage of his shock, pushed right ahead. "And…you're Michael's. The archangel Michael." Just like he'd thought he could _see_ it, the panic in Dean's eyes, just how far he was in over his head, and Sam hated himself for it.

Dean leaned forward, face in his hands, his words muffled. "Jesus Christ, Sam."

"I know."

He still hadn't taken his hands away. "So this is it? We're puppets, the world ends, that's how it goes down?"

"_No_. That's exactly how it's _not_ gonna go down, because for them to get a hold of us, they have to have our consent."

Dean let his hands drops, his eyebrows rising. "Wait, seriously? They've gotta ask us and if we say no-"

"Then they're outta luck."

"Well that's easy then. We just tell 'em to fuck off and-"

"It's harder than it sounds." Or at least, _apparently_ it was harder than it sounded. Personally, he'd never been tempted for a second to say yes. That didn't mean he couldn't understand, though. Dean had been desperate, down to his last straw. Things always looked different when you were hopeless.

"Don't tell me we agreed to that."

"Not quite." Here, too, he needed to tell the whole truth. "But, I think you were about to. That's kinda part of the reason I'm here."

Out of everything he'd said so far, it was obvious that affected Dean the most. His walls slammed down, his eyes cold, and he pushed the chair back and went to the sink, leaning over it with hunched shoulders. Sam was on his own feet almost as fast, ready to follow him.

"Dean,-"

"What's the rest?" His voice was frighteningly calm, no tremor. Sam would have felt better if he'd sounded less alright.

"Well…the other big thing I was gonna tell you isn't really related. Not directly at least, but it's pretty major and I told you last night-"

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam leaned across the counter, trying to get close enough to see Dean's face. It didn't exactly work, but he could catch enough in the reflection to see that his eyes were shut.

"I'm gonna disappear, some time at the end of April. I'm gonna vanish, and Azazel is gonna have taken me to Cold Oak, South Dakota. Dean, I'm gonna be fine, and maybe even save a couple people in the process if I'm lucky, but I'm gonna need you to meet me there." And over his dead body would things happen the way they did before. Or, rather, over Jake's dead body. He wasn't about to let Dean see him die like that, not again. Besides, he had too much left to do to be going downstairs just yet.

"Alright." Dean's calm was starting to seriously scare him.

He reached into his pocket for the map he'd swiped out of Bobby's library earlier, and he spread it out across the counter, the rustle drawing Dean over. "You see this part of Wyoming, right here?" Dean nodded, and Sam trailed his finger over the rails. "These old railroad lines were laid by Samuel Colt, and they make a devil's trap around an old cowboy cemetery in the middle. There's a gate to hell there, and Azazel wants one of the children he gave his blood to to take the Colt and open it. So…" He took a deep breath, already hating the _thought_ of the words. This was the hardest part. "That's exactly what I'm gonna do." He held his hand up, cutting off the startled sound Dean had made. "For a couple reasons."

He smoothed his hands across the map, hands fitting against the corners. It was hard not to look as guilty as he felt, and he wasn't anywhere near sure he pulled it off. "When this happened before, Jake opened the gate. And out of all the _massive_ amounts of demons that got out…dad got out too. And I'm not leavin' him there." Not for anything. Not that that had been an easy decision to come to. Opening the gate brought massive demon problems and death for a lot of people, but the longer he'd deliberated, he'd realized he was always coming back to the same conclusion. When it came down to choosing someone he loved or the world, he'd choose the person he loved, every time. Even if it meant terrible things, there was no way he'd leave his father to rot in hell. "And, you know you asked me about the demon who holds my contract? Well she's downstairs, and this is the way she gets up here. So lookin' at it like that…we don't really have a choice."

Of course they did. There was always a choice. He just happened to know that no matter how _wrong_ it was(and it was pretty damn wrong, all things considered), Dean would be willing to make the same choice. Of course, Sam couldn't help but feel that if he wasn't already going to hell this would clench it, but he could still hope that maybe that wasn't the case.

"I'll do it."

Sam's head jerked up to look at Dean, his head still bowed over the map. "_What_? No, Dean-"

"Yes." When he looked up, Sam could see the determination in him, pure desperation. "Sam, this is all my fault. Everything I did before, if I hadn't-"

"No, Dean, you-"

"_Don't_, Sam. Don't." It was the tone he'd used when he'd already more than made up his mind. "This is all my fault, and on top of that, I'm the reason dad's down there anyway. I should be the one to get him out." He shifted forward, his finger tapping the center of the map over the cemetery. "Now you said you wanted to do this together. Well, that means not carryin' all the weight yourself, Sammy, and this is part of that. I can do this. I _need_ to do this."

Of course he did. In Dean's eyes, he could never punish himself enough, and taking this on himself probably seemed like much less punishment than he deserved. Sam didn't want to let him, because he couldn't have agreed less. _He'd_ been the one to fuck up, for the most part, and a lot of blood already rested on his hands. A little more couldn't possibly hurt him, at this point. Still, Dean was right, if only on one count. They really did need to do this together, and that meant letting Dean shoulder some of the weight, even when Sam wished he didn't have to.

Sam nodded, slow. "Ok. Yeah."

Somehow, the deep breath Dean took seemed relieved, like he really had _needed_ it, needed to know that he was going to have to take some of this on himself. Times like that, Sam would've given nearly anything to really be able to see into his head.

"Dean, this isn't your fault, man. Things just got crazy and I knew what I had to do, that's all. I'm not sorry, and I know I did the right thing."

Dean laughed, short and sharp, and he shook his head. "Sam, you don't understand. It was my _job_ to _stop you_, to make sure we found another way, and if I wasn't doing that, then this _is_ my fault. Simple as that."

"We'd tried. We were still trying, but Dean, you'd been through a lot; you don't understand."

"No, you're right. I don't." His voice rose, real anger breaking through and Sam was honestly glad for it, because this was healthier than keeping it all buried in his chest, festering and swirling around in the back of his mind. "I don't understand what the _hell_ was wrong with me that I let my brother sell his soul when I was _right there_, I don't understand how you couldn't change my mind, I don't understand why you didn't _try_, why you didn't-"

"Because you hated me!" There. He'd finally said it. He hadn't even realized he'd _wanted_ to say it anymore, wanted to talk about that time since it was already over and long gone and _this_ Dean couldn't understand, but thinking about it again all the emotion had risen right back up under the surface, and it hurt now as much as it had back then.

Dean slammed his fist against the counter, moving around to the edge of it to circle around and come closer to Sam. "Oh please, what're you, four? I didn't _hate_ you, Sam; I could never hate you! I was…I don't know, dammit, but I was probably fucked up and-"

"You threw it away." Yes, he realized he wasn't making sense all the way, but now that this conversation was started he couldn't really keep his mouth shut.

"…what?"

"This." He pushed against Dean's chest, his fingers curling around the amulet briefly before he let it drop to swing back heavily against his shirt again. "You threw it away. And you'd…" Damn, he was getting choked up just remembering. He could still _feel_ it, still feel the scars he'd never lose from every fight they'd had that year, from the words Dean had said. "You'd told me before that things could never be the same between us again. And I'd kept hoping, I'd kept trying, I tried everything to get you to forgive me, but every time I thought we were actually getting somewhere nothing ever panned out, and then you threw it away, and I was _right there_. How the hell else am I supposed to take that?"

"Sam…" He was looking him over, something Sam couldn't all the way read in his eyes, though he could tell there was fear. For a second he seemed almost ready to back away, but he changed his mind somewhere in the movement and stepped forward instead, almost right up against Sam's chest. "That everything you wanted to say to me, Sam? Or is there more? Cause I get the feelin' you've been carrying that around for a long time."

Jesus, he felt like shit. Dean was already hurting, had already been through far too much to have to be dealing with this, too. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. Everything that had happened before, the Dean he faced now had never done those things and Sam couldn't imagine that he ever would. Confronting him with it now was just cruel and stupid, and he already wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"You're wrong, you know. I don't care what I did….well, that's not true. I can't believe I did that, said those things, but you know what, you're right. I _can't_ understand, because I'm not there, but when I was? I can tell you for damn sure that I didn't hate you, because it's not possible. I might've been pissed, and I might've been fucked up and scared for you and for both of us, but I didn't hate you. And if you'd really called me on it, I'm pretty sure you'd have found that out."

Sam was pretty sure he was wrong, but he was tired of fighting about it just now. He was tired of fighting altogether, actually. "Can we not talk about this anymore? I'm sorry I said…I don't wanna fight." Especially when this wasn't even the one he should've had that fight with.

For a second, he thought Dean was going to push the subject and make him keep going, but he nodded slowly, letting it drop, and he reached up and pulled Sam down for a kiss.

"Can tell you one thing, Sammy. That's not gonna happen this time around, ok? I promise."

No matter what else in this life that had managed to go wrong anyway, that was something Sam absolutely believed.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

"Ohhhh yes! Jackpot!"

Sam groaned, and Dean turned the radio up ear splittingly loud, the sounds of Queen reverberating through the car. When he'd begged Dean to listen to the radio for awhile, he'd just been hoping for something other than the Bad Company tape they'd been listening to for the past 200 miles, but now he'd have been willing to stick the tape back in.

Dean threw his arm across the back of the seat and settled in, singing loudly along. "Sammy was low, just watching the show-"

"Dean."

"-over and over again."

"_Dean_."

"_What_?" He slid closer, his arm wrapping around Sam's shoulders, lips nearly against his ear to be heard over the music. "This is an awesome song."

"It was, until you wouldn't stop singing it at me when were kids; that kinda ruined it."

"Can't ruin the classics, Sammy." Sam could hear Dean's smile, and it was just a little bit harder to stay annoyed. The past few weeks, Dean had been doing better. He wasn't sure if it was getting everything out in the open that had helped or if he'd finally gotten through to Dean that whatever happened _they_ were gonna be alright, but whatever it was he was grateful for it. He'd been just a little easier with Sam lately, a little of the worried tension gone from his eyes, and that was exactly what Sam wanted. Dean didn't need to worry, not about him. He could take care of that himself.

He broke out singing again, his head tilting back. "Sammy, who do you think that you are,-"

Happy Dean or not, after hearing it about 500 times as a kid there was only so much of that damn song he could take. He reached out and turned the radio off, slapping Dean's hand back when Dean tried to turn it back on.

"Dean, I _hate_ that song."

"You're no fun, you know that?" Dean sighed dramatically, rested his chin on Sam's shoulder rather than sliding back over onto his side of the seat. "God, I swear this part of Nebraska's one of the most boring stretches of highway ever."

"Yeah, probably." He could feel Dean's breath against his neck, soft and even, and Dean's left hand was toying with a fraying edge to his sleeve where his arm was slung over Sam's shoulders. It was getting distracting and he squirmed, shifting his grip on the wheel. "Can you move? I kinda need to drive, Dean."

"What, is this a problem for you?" Dean's voice was teasing, warm with amusement.

Shit. "I'm driving."

"I can see that." Dean's lips brushed against his jaw, and he tucked his head in a little closer and sucked at Sam's neck, swirling his tongue over the area where the blood rose under his skin. Dean turned his head enough to look down, and Sam's hands tightened hard on the wheel at the low moan that slipped from his throat. "Sammy…you have any idea how hot that is? Jesus, Sam…" He didn't look down, but he could imagine why Dean liked what he saw. He could feel himself already at least half hard, pushing up against the front of his jeans. Dean's right hand moved to the inside of his thigh, rubbing slow and teasing, and Sam couldn't help the way his hips jerked just a little, trying to get Dean's hand where he really wanted it. Dean squeezed gently, thumb rubbing over the seam. "I dunno…I probably shouldn't. You pitched a hissy fit about the music; I'm not sure you deserve it."

His hand slid closer and Sam's breath quickened, his jeans feeling suddenly painfully tight. "You shouldn't. Driving."

"Like I said, you're no fun. Which is why…" His hand slid up a little higher, cupping over the bulge in Sam's pants. Sam jerked, his foot pressing down just a little harder on the gas. " 'M gonna make you enjoy yourself a little."

"_Dean_-"

"Shh." Dean rubbed at him through his jeans, slow and insistent. "There's seriously something wrong with you, by the way. I would've sworn there wasn't a guy on the planet that'd complain about getting a blow job while he was driving but hey, that just proves what I've always said about you, Sammy. Too vanilla for your own good."

" 'M not vanilla." Of course, it was hard to sound annoyed at the accusation when Dean was moving around on the seat beside him, maneuvering to get himself down half stretched out on the seat half in the floorboard.

"What's the last kinky thing you did? Cause I sure can't remember it."

Well, that depended on the definition of kink. Most people probably would've agreed that fucking his brother was kinky in and of itself, but since he wasn't doing it _because _Dean was his brother, that had ceased to really register in his head a long time ago. "We…" Fuck it, it wasn't gonna work. Even if there _was_ something(and he was pretty sure they'd done something at least a little unusual not too long ago), he couldn't think of it right now. Driving while Dean had his mouth on him was gonna be nearly impossible enough, he certainly wouldn't be able to _think_ during all of that.

Dean had unzipped his jeans and worked him out of his boxers, and he first closed his lips just around the head and sucked, light and teasing. Sam threw his left hand out to grip the door, and he swore under his breath, his hips already working up into his mouth despite Dean's hand trying to hold him down.

Dean's lips stretched just a little wider around him, head bobbing as he took him in a little farther. Dean's tongue pressed flat against the underside, pulling back after to suckle at the moisture that'd drawn. Dean moaned around him at the taste, and Sam shifted the wheel into his left hand, needing to _touch_ so badly it was a desperate physical need.

Even knowing how badly he'd wanted to get a hand on his brother, the shock of pleasure that jolted through him when his hand cupped behind Dean's head startled him, and he moaned, hunching just a little forward in the seat as his fingers tightened in Dean's hair. God, he loved this. Dean's mouth was unbelievable, searing wet heat made even better by the fact that he knew what to do with it. Better still was the way Dean looked at him, his pupils wide with eager hunger, irises dark with desire and the connection ever present between them.

Right now, he couldn't let himself look down to see it. The road was mercifully empty ahead, but he still kept his eyes glued to it, glancing only every now and then down to make sure he wasn't speeding too ridiculously. Last thing he wanted was to get pulled over like _this_. He stroked against the back of Dean's neck, thumb kneading at the muscle, feeling it contract as Dean's head bobbed over him. He could feel the spit slick slide, even more noticeable in the cool air against damp skin when he pulled back. Dean seemed to take him deeper as he went, until finally he was bumping just against the back of his throat, feeling Dean swallow against the intrusion.

He whispered Dean's name, started to pant when Dean moaned in response. His foot jerked just a little against the accelerator and he forced some of his attention back to the road, to the way he was weaving in his lane. In another minute Dean pulled off of him, breathing hard.

"Dude, will you hurry up already? I mean, normally I wouldn't complain but this is uncomfortable as hell and my neck is _killin_' me, so would you just come already?"

Sam laughed, short and trailing off into another, softer sound as Dean's breath chilled damp skin. "Come here, Dean."

"You sure? Cause I mean, I got another minute or so, but if you-"

"Just come here." As incredible as Dean's mouth felt, his nerves over 'holy shit this is a bad idea' kept his mind just enough on the road that it was hard to focus. He was getting there, yeah, but it was still gonna take a minute, though he was pretty sure it'd take less with Dean talking to him than it would otherwise.

Dean obliged, scooting up and first cracking his neck, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. He was quick about it, though, and he wrapped himself back around Sam again, arm slung over his shoulders, his right hand going to Sam's lap to curl around his length. He squeezed, careful but still demanding Sam's attention, his lips hovering next to Sam's ear.

"You know, I'm kind of offended you couldn't stop thinking about the damn road long enough to get off. And to think I thought I taught you priorities."

"You did, you-oh God, Dean…" He was working him over, quick and just a little rough, and he reached down and into Sam's boxers to cup his balls, feeling their weight against his palm. "The car."

"Hm?" Dean's thumb rubbed against the base, and he hummed low and satisfied when he felt Sam twitch.

"Priorities. Car comes first."

He could feel Dean's laugh, and at the scrape of stubble against his skin Sam almost gave in and turned his head for a kiss.

"Car's pretty high up there, that's true. Course, you could always pull over." Dean's teeth caught on his earlobe, nipping lightly. "You know how much I love it when you fuck me on the hood, right? Like that time outside of Tampa on that gravel road, the way you had your hand on my back, that was so good, Sam."

_God_, Dean could talk dirty like no one he'd ever heard, and he always knew _exactly_ what it'd effect him most to hear. His voice was pure lust, all low and rough, and somehow he still managed to sound open and honest at the same time. Not to mention the fact that he could go from teasing him to seducing him in about five seconds. Sam groaned, his nails digging into the underside of the wheel. He _could_ still remember exactly what Dean was talkin' about, how they'd both been so hungry for it he'd bent Dean over the hood, hand pressing between his shoulder blades as he fucked him hard, listening to him cry out, the feel of Dean's muscles flexing under Sam's hand.

"Yeah, I thought so. So fuckin' good, Sammy…no, don't." He'd been about to do it, give in and pull over, but Dean's hand left his cock and went to Sam's wrist, nudging him to stay on the road. "Don't. Not right now. Lemme do this." He brought his palm back up, and hearing the wet sound of him licking it was almost hotter _without_ the visual because he knew it was there, just out of sight, and his heart pounded just a little harder. When Dean's hand wrapped around him again he stroked him just a little faster, his wrist twisting expertly. "C'mon, Sammy. C'mon."

Maybe it was the fact that there were things Dean typically said only during sex, maybe it was the fact that he'd been hearing and loving that voice his whole life, but there was something about Dean's voice in his ear that always helped push him over the edge.

His cock pulsed in Dean's grip and he came, his hands tightening so hard on the wheel his arms shook for a second or two. Dean's breath hitched, and he nuzzled against Sam to press a soft, wet kiss to the side of his throat.

Dean pulled away after that, reaching over into the glove box for a couple fast food napkins that he used to sort of clean up. Sam was pretty sure he was gonna have to change his shirt, too, but all things considered, that wasn't really too much of a pain. He hadn't run off the road or gotten arrested and that had felt _damn_ good, and if Dean really wanted to turn the radio back on now and sing as loud as he wanted, Sam couldn't've had it in him to object no matter what the song was.

"Pull over."

"What?" He glanced over to find Dean watching him, his eyes dark and appreciative. "So…what happened to, 'right now, I want this', huh?"

"Yeah, well…I did! For you. But I mean, c'mon, Sammy, _I've_ got needs too y' know and I really don't think you should be takin' care of that while you're driving…" He caught Dean's smirk out of the corner of his eye, Dean's own hand rubbing slow at the front of his jeans. "Cause, you know, that's just not safe."

"…I hate you."

"Ah, I know you do." He heard the sound of Dean's zipper, followed by a muffled moan. "But you're gonna pull over anyway."

"You know, I can't fuck you right now. So if that's what you wanted, you kind of screwed yourself over, Dean." Although, if Dean kept making that noise, it wouldn't be too long before he could probably manage. His dick was already twitching, trying feebly to take interest.

"Technically, I didn't, since-"

"Just shut up."

As if there was ever a chance he _wasn't_ gonna pull over, regardless. He almost skidded off onto the gravel, a cloud of dust rising up behind the car.

When he growled and jerked Dean's wrist away from his crotch Dean laughed, and he was pretty sure that something along these lines had been Dean's plan all along.

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	15. Chapter 15

*sigh* So I know, I'm a horrible person and it's probably been about a month, and here I promised you updates twice a week. I _know_. Feel free to shoot me. T.T

Thing is, physics has been taking up MUCH more time than I thought it would…but all that work's actually been paying off, cause I got 110% on our most recent test, ^^ That said, I'm desperately sorry updates on this have been so sporadic and I promise things'll get better once rl calms down a little. Plus, this chapter was a little bit of a bitch to edit because I'd changed a semi major plot point and…yeah. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy, :)

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"So you're sure it was just the girl up here with him, no one else?"

Gabriel leaned back against the door casually, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah, I'm sure. That late at night, I would've seen someone else come up."

Yeah. Of course he would've. Sam's palm itched, and he flexed his hand. "Well alright then. Think we're about done for the day, but one more thing…" He slipped the knife out of his sleeve, his hand tightening on the grip. "Have a nice trip."

He didn't give him time to be in shock, just slashed the knife across his palm and yanked open the empty drawer he'd drawn the sigil in a couple hours earlier, pressing his palm to the blood stains. Gabriel vanished, light bursting out from around the edges of his silhouette as he disappeared.

"Holy shit." Dean was still staring at the spot where he'd last stood, incredulous, and Sam had to remind himself that this was the first time Dean had seen an angel, much less the first time he'd seen _that_ happen.

"Yeah. I know." He pulled his hand back, yanking a strip of cloth out of his pocket to wrap around his palm. "Pretty crazy looking, isn't it?"

"You can say that again." Dean shook his head, gesturing at the empty space where Gabriel'd stood. "And we don't know where they go? How long it dispels them for, anything?"

"No, not really. I mean, Cas used it a lot and he taught us to too so I'm guessing it works for at least quite awhile, but I don't have any real concrete data on it." For the most part, they'd just used it as a last ditch resort before getting the hell outta Dodge, so how long it was gonna keep the angel or angels at bay hadn't really come up very often. He shrugged, heading back around the desk. "I mean, I'm not sayin' he's gonna be happy with us after this, but I think he'll be done in this town for awhile, at least enough to keep some kind of cover. But I'm sure we're gonna have to deal with him again." Just not in Florida, because he'd already told Dean they weren't _ever_ going anywhere near Broward County. Not ever.

"I still think there's gotta be some way to smoke the bastards."

If only there was, dealing with Lucifer wouldn't be _quite_ so daunting. Marginally, at least. "Far as I know, they have to kill each other. But I don't know, I guess…there could always be something we missed." Unlikely considering how much reading they'd gone through, but he never liked to rule anything out, especially if it could work in their favor.

He bumped Dean's shoulder on his way out the door, comfortable and easy. "C'mon, man. Let's go. Think there's a job in Decatur; I wanna show you those articles I found."

They picked up pad thai, looked into info about the vanishing wagon in Decatur that seemed to have claimed two lives and fell asleep to the sounds of rain, legs tangled together.

The dream started off innocent enough, and at first, he didn't know anything was wrong. It was a good memory, the time he and Dean had spent in Charleston, and Dean was looking out over the water at Battery Park, looking incredible in the late evening sun. He went to him and kissed him, backing Dean against the railing, and he was just starting to really lose himself in it when Dean's hands pushed against his chest, shoving him back.

"Did you really think it'd be _that_ easy? C'mon, Sam…" The air between them shimmered, and suddenly Dean wasn't _Dean_ anymore. Sam backpedaled fast, reflexively wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, I don't _have_ anything. Besides, we're in your head, kiddo, none of this is real. Although if you were gettin' ready to do what I think you were gonna do, you've got a serious exhibitionist kink Dean should probably know about."

"Why are you here?" With the angels, it was usually best to try to cut to the chase. Not that that usually worked.

"Why am _I_ here? Its you and your brother who forced yourselves into _my_ life, remember? I wasn't bothering you, but you just had to-"

"You were _killing_ people, Gabriel! What, that's 'holy' to you?"

That hit a nerve, just like he'd thought it might. His eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, holy is all a matter of perspective, Sam. I haven't done half the shit some of my brothers have done, and a lot of them are considered more righteous than me by their higher ups, so who are you to condemn me having a little fun? I mean _really_, who're you especially to say it because the _things_ you're gonna do once you get downstairs…" He laughed, loud and real. "They're gonna have to invent a whole new type of torture, just to describe what you're gonna do. Unleashing _that_ temper, down in hell?" He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "I can't even imagine the carnage…and I can imagine a lot."

Sam's hands clenched, nails digging hard into his palms. "I'm not goin'. And besides, it wouldn't be like that. I know better, now." His jaw ached from the pressure of clenching it impossibly tight; the hinge feeling close to snapping.

"You 'know' better? Sam, _everyone_ knows better. It's not like anyone goes down to hell with the intention of torturing a few million souls and becoming their own worst nightmare, but that's what happens down there all the same! You all think you're gonna hold out, and in the long run, _none_ of you do. That's why it's hell. You can't make it, but you shouldn't be offended by that because _no one_ can. So…" He pushed away from the railing, and Sam took another step back for every step closer he took. "You can be as judgmental of what I do as you want, but when it comes down to it, no matter what I've done this is gonna end with more blood on your hands than it is on mine. And besides hell, Sam, that's just the way it has to go. My brother, he needs you. And you're gonna have to roll over for him. And, yeah, I'm sorry he's a bit of an ass, but I keep hopin' he'll clean that up. Either way, he's gonna use you to cause a mess, and he's not gonna be sorry, but Sam, that's just the way it is. There's nothing you can do about it, buddy, but just let it happen with as few casualties on _your_ part as possible."

This all went right back to before, to the whole 'play your roles' speech. He'd hated it then, and he hated it now. He wasn't a goddamn puppet, and Dean certainly wasn't one either.

"Get the hell out of my head."

"Sam-"

"I mean it! You get the hell out of my head, you hear me?" He wasn't sure he could really order him out by force of will, but damn, he was gonna try.

"Sam, please." Gabriel held up his hands, pacifying, and for a minute he almost looked harmless. "Look, I didn't mean to get you all riled up. I'm just trying to soften the blow, but you never seem to take it that way even when I'm trying my best to help you. In any case…" He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets. "The take home message here is, 'Leave me alone'."

Somehow he'd figured that was gonna be it. "Leave _you_ alone? Well, for starters I'm not gonna just sit by and let you _kill_ people!" Except in Florida. And there, he totally was. He could kill as many as he liked, Sam still wouldn't take Dean across that county line. "Second, you're the one with that power."

"Excuse me?"

"You're the one who keeps comin' after us, later. So…" He squared his shoulders, stared him down. "_You_ leave _us_ the hell alone. Because we're not doin' it, and our minds won't change, not on this. You'll just be wasting your time." Utterly. _No one_ was gonna say yes this time around. No one was gonna even _think_ it.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You have serious issues. I mean, between the two of you, you have _subscriptions_."

Sam opened his mouth, ready with a comeback about _Gabriel's_ fucked up family, but the archangel snapped his fingers and he was gone, leaving Sam's dream version of 2003 Dean in his place.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Dean was standing over at the dresser when Sam came up behind him, arms wrapping around Dean's waist as his chin rested on his shoulder. Dean didn't exactly freeze but he hesitated, his hands stilling for just a second before he finished flipping open the box of ammo he was holding, leaning back almost imperceptivity into his brother.

" 'M coming to bed in just a second, I just wanted to check our ammo, see if we need to stop by Caleb's on the way outta here."

"It's tomorrow." He buried his face against Dean's neck, breathing him in. This time of night, he smelled like leather and cheap hotel soap and Dean, and Sam wanted to memorize it, keep it trapped in his head for awhile.

"What's tomorrow?" Dean's fingers skimmed over the bullets, counting, still only half paying attention.

"Cold Oak. It starts tomorrow." The past few days he'd been dreading it, and Dean had been jumpy the whole month of April, but now it was _here_ and he had to admit, he was a little afraid. Everything so far had proven mostly impossible to prevent, and if he died in just three days then it would ruin everything.

Dean shut the box, let it drop back into the duffle and turned around in Sam's arms, his own hands coming up to frame Sam's face. "You're sure? I mean, a few things've changed, right, it might not-"

" 'M sure, Dean." He'd been having headaches for the past few days, a sign he'd only noticed in retrospect before but that made perfect sense now. He tucked his face in against Dean's shoulder again, filling his lungs with the scent. He could _do_ this. He could do it and it'd be over quick, and then it'd just be another thing they'd had to go through, just one more they'd survived together.

As far back as he could remember, there'd never been a time Dean couldn't figure out just what he needed. He pushed Sam back toward the bed, stepped out of his grip only long enough for them to shed down to their boxers before he slipped in under the covers, reaching over to turn out the light by the bed before he pulled Sam close. Dean's arms were strong and familiar, and they held him desperately close, one wrapped around his back, the other hand fitting behind his head.

"I should go with you."

It wasn't the first time they'd had this argument, and even though it was all gonna go down tomorrow night Sam was still sure it wouldn't be the last. "No, Dean, you can't. It's too dangerous, you could-"

"Be killed?" There was an edge to his words, an angry kind of fear that Sam hated to hear and he tightened his grip, holding on tight enough for his nails to dig into Dean's back. "How did it happen?"

Somehow, he knew Dean wasn't asking about how exactly he was gonna disappear. "It doesn't matter." He whispered, words brushing against Dean's collar. "It doesn't matter, Dean, it's not gonna happen, ok? I'm gonna be fine."

"What happened, Sam?"

He could still feel the rain, the squelch of the mud on his shoes, the pain in his arm that had been replaced by the pain in his back, how relieved he'd felt when Dean caught him, because Dean was _there_, and everything was alright. "He stabbed me in the back. You were there, you saw the whole thing." If he was going to die, he didn't ever want to do it in Dean's sight again.

Dean's breath caught, and though Sam couldn't see his face in the dark, he could imagine how his eyes looked. His hand slid down Sam's back, steady pressure, as if he could protect him by touch and possession. It felt like it should've worked that way. He was Dean's; no one else could touch him. Wasn't that the whole point of this anyway, belonging to each other utterly enough that it empowered them both?

"I'll be alright, Dean. It's not gonna happen like that."

"And what if it does? I mean, I'm not doubtin' you know when it's gonna happen, Sam, but to be honest, man, your track record at stoppin' this shit hasn't been all that great so far. And if somethin' else happens…" Dean shook his head, slipped his leg between Sam's, another anchor to keep him close. "I should be there. You can't die like that. Not now."

He might as well have said 'because I can't save you', because Sam knew it was there anyway. It wasn't him dying that Dean was the most concerned about(though that was certainly high up there), it was the fact that if he did, Dean had no options. Sam's deal was already made, and if he went downstairs early…well, they wouldn't complain. And they wouldn't take alternative options, either. With hell, it was all absolutes.

"I'll be alright. I can handle this, really I can. You come pick me up, and then we go to Wyoming together. It'll work out. But you can't come, Dean. Not there. He'll have one of them kill you just to get at me, I know he will. And I won't have that."

"Well, then we take care of 'em all first!"

It really wasn't that easy. Maybe it'd be Jake or maybe it'd be the acheri, but he was sure that if Dean came to Cold Oak too soon, he wouldn't make it. Whether it was just paranoia or not, that wasn't something Sam was willing to risk.

"No. Dean, it's too dangerous. Just, _please_, tell me you're gonna let me take care of this and just meet me there. Alright?"

Dean's hand smoothed down his back again, fingers tracing his spine. It was awhile before he nodded against Sam's shoulder, slow and reluctant. "I'll come pick you up."

Sam turned his head enough to find Dean's lips, and he kissed him, his movements driven by pure need. Dean pinned him back against the mattress and they kissed like they were trying to drink each other down, and though he could feel Dean rubbing hard against his hip it never turned into sex. It was just heavy, warm breath on his skin, the gentle catch of Dean's teeth against his lip and the slide of Dean's tongue against his, the way Dean whispered his name when Sam whined and opened his mouth a little wider to take Dean in.

They were almost asleep just like that, Dean still on top of him when he felt the vibration of Dean's words, murmured against the hollow of his throat.

"Not gonna lose you, Sammy. 'M not ready yet."

No. Neither was he. But then, neither of them ever would be. It was one of those things, like running against the clock. No matter how hard you tried, you were going to run out of time before you were ready.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Sam woke up quick, sucking in a sharp breath and sitting up, wincing at the pain in his back. He'd been passed out in the same place as before, stretched across rotting wooden slats. Last he remembered, he'd gone out to get them drinks from the vending machine. Of course, he'd known that was probably gonna be it and he was sure Dean had too, because when he'd left Dean had looked him over like a drowning man, but he'd gone out the door anyway. He could still remember all too well what had happened to Brady, before, and Dean getting killed for them to take him wasn't an option.

He got on his feet, brushing wet leaves off his palms. He was going to have to hurry. This time around, things were going to be different, and not just because he wasn't going to let Jake kill him in front of his brother. Ava was gone, and he already knew the rules of this game. He wasn't about to let Andy or Lily become casualties when they didn't have to. When it came down to it, the only one that really mattered here was him. Sometimes, he wondered if Azazel had ever _really_ known the full truth about the work he was doing for Lucifer.

First things first, he had to get his bearings. He'd gone into this with a knife strapped against his left arm, but he knew better than to look for that now. They'd disarmed him before, there was no reason to think they'd have done anything but the same this time around. After that, he had some thinking to do. Well, not so much thinking as just a little bit of planning, of coming to terms with what he already knew he _had_ to do. Killing Jake wasn't an option, but _how_ he killed Jake was and now that he was here that was taking a little more thought than he'd figured on. He couldn't really charge in an stab him in the chest, obviously. Even if he did find a weapon between now and then that wouldn't exactly endear him to Lily and Andy'd think he'd gone nuts and…it just won't work, logistically. He'd have to wait until they were alone, have to wait till it was just the two of them somewhere he might could even blame it on one of the spirits if he was lucky.

That first time, he'd found Andy on a side street just over to the right from where he'd woken up but this time he'd taken a left, given himself space and time to think, so when he saw Andy come around the corner at the end of an entirely different street a few minutes later, he was totally taken off guard.

"Sam!"

"Andy, hey!" Andy ran up to him, the others trailing behind, and he seemed as relieved to see him as he had before.

"Sam, what the hell is going on here? I just…I don't even…" His hands were gripped tight around the cuffs of his jacket, his eyes wide, and Sam hated how lost he looked. Whatever Azazel had tried to do to them, he'd probably failed more with Andy than with anyone. He had a good heart, and he didn't belong here.

Sam held his hands up, pacifying. "It's ok, Andy, I promise it's gonna be ok. I can explain everything."

"What do you mean, you can explain everything? You mean you know what's goin' on here?" Jake's voice grated at him, scraping rough at his insides and making him wish this was already over. In all the time he'd spent with him before, he'd been pretty sure that under all this bullshit Azazel forced on them, Jake was a good man. That was nothing he wanted to remember now.

Sam cleared his throat, stood up just a little straighter. "Yeah. I do. We've been brought here by a demon, a demon whose blood we all share because he's got plans for us. Now I know-" He talked just a little louder, trying to force them to keep listening to him. "I know that sounds crazy. I _know_. But it's true, and if we don't all work together right now, we're gonna be dead because at the moment, there is _no way_ out of this town that he's gonna let us take. There's spirits here and demons and God only knows what else and he's got all that at his disposal, so for the time being, we need to make some preparations."

Predictably, that was when everyone started talking at once. He let them burn it out, let them all yell and rant almost unintelligibly until it was dying down and he could grab at least a fraction of their attention.

"Like I said…I know, sounds crazy. But we can all do something unexplainable, am I right?" Reluctant nods all around. Lily shoved her hands under her arms, crossed tight over her chest. "That's because of him. And he wants us to use those powers for his own reasons, and we can't do that." Funny, that was _exactly_ what he was going to do. Well, not the powers so much, but he was gonna play right into Azazel's hands. Every time he thought about it, he never felt any less sick.

"Sam, it's just…this is…"

"Crazy?"

Andy threw his hands up, at a loss. "Overwhelming! I mean, it's one thing for you to show up and tell me I've got a crazy murderous twin brother and a whole other for you to tell me I've got _demon_ blood and he wants me to…" Andy shook his head and Sam reached out to him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Andy, it's gonna be alright, ok? I promise, we're gonna figure this out." His eyes flickered up, Jake's, and he did his best not to look away. "Look, even if you think I'm crazy, you've gotta agree with me that we need to protect ourselves. We can set up a central meeting place, leave them to watch it while we go scout, see what we can find about exactly what's around here, what weapons we grab, food, any of that."

He could tell he already pretty much had Jake, but Lily spoke up first.

"Screw you. You can't tell me to stay here, and you can't make me believe there's any kind of reason beyond what I can do. It's not…it's not natural, and it's not anything I can use, and I am _not_ staying here with all of you."

"Lily…" She turned to walk away and he grabbed her hand, jerking her back. Her eyes went wide, obviously shocked that he wasn't already dead and he smiled, tried not to look like he'd anticipated her shock _too_ much. "I'm guessing your power doesn't work on me."

"…how…how did you-"

"None of our powers work on each other, Lily. I don't know why, maybe because of us all sharing the same blood. What I do know, though, is that we can't use them on each other, not like that. And Lily, here's the thing…if I'm wrong and you stay here, well you don't really lose anything except leaving here later than you wanted to and in a bigger group. But if I'm _right_ and you try to leave, you're dead. Sounds like a pretty easy bet to chose, if it were me."

She bit her lip, considering, and Sam didn't really wait for her to answer. He let go of her hand, turning back around to Andy. "Just…stay with her, ok? In that building right over there. We'll be right back."

"What if something…you said there were other…_things_ here." Really, no one could blame Andy for being freaked. Most people were supposed to be freaked out by this kind of thing.

"It's ok. We won't be long, just stay together." Without Ava here, it stood to reason that as long as they didn't leave them alone there forever, they were gonna be fine. She'd been the one to call the acheri to kill Lily and Andy before, after all. When he looked up at him again Jake nodded, and they waited until Andy and Lily were inside before they headed off down the street.

Jake was the one to break the silence. "Usin' a variation of Pascal's wager to argue with her; I liked that."

"You caught that, huh?" Sam laughed, soft and nervous, though he hoped it didn't sound quite that way.

"Yeah. My momma was Catholic, so…" He shrugged, his eyes scanning across the street as they headed into the building that looked like it had once belonged to a blacksmith. "You really believe all that stuff you told us? About the demon?"

"I don't just believe it; I know it's true." They split up a little on the inside, walking around separate sides of the perimeter. "I've seen him, and I know that he wants us for his own reasons and whatever it is he wants, it can't be good."

"Well, if that's true, we can't let these people panic. Here." They met in the middle at the back and Jake held his hand out, a rusty knife in his palm. "You can use this. I'll find me somethin' else." He turned to head over to the wheel, and for a minute Sam was distracted by the memory of standing there before, watching him rip off a spoke and worrying about Dean, if he was alright, if he was even still alive…

_Dean_. That was why he was doing this anyway, why he had to act fast. He launched himself forward, practically tackling him from behind, one hand going to hold his chin back as he slashed at his throat with the knife. It wasn't quite sharp enough, and though could hear him starting to choke on his own blood it hadn't cut all the through the way through. He pitched forward, ending up sprawled and grasping on the ground and Sam gripped his shoulder to turn his body over. From where he knelt over him Jake looked up at him, eyes wide with shock, and Sam swallowed hard.

" 'M sorry. I _had_ to."

With that, he drove the knife into his heart.

He left it there, hilt quivering a little as he pulled away, and he rubbed his bloodstained hands in the dirt, getting most of it off. Nearer to the building there was a well and he could pull some water up and wash his hands there, and by the time he got back in to Andy and Lily he could have a good story to tell them, something about the acheri surprising them in the smith. Of course, he was pretty damn sure that knife was made of iron, but they didn't need to know that.

He couldn't bear to look back at Jake's body, and though he wished he could've found a weapon in there to take back with him it just wasn't worth going back in. There was salt in that building they were in, he remembered, and they'd make due. For now, he was going to take the first watch and let them sleep, and by the time Andy woke up and could take over for him, he'd be ready to get some sleep of his own and have a few words with Azazel.

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

That night, Azazel didn't show. Sam woke up to the light in his eyes, streaming through the curtainless window, blinking rapidly and trying to wake up enough to check the salt lines. None of them were broken, and Andy slept curled up by the fire, head pillowed on his arms.

Lily, on the other hand, was gone.

He went to Andy, shaking his shoulder to wake him, and he brought his arm up to block when Andy flailed a little as he woke up.

"What, huh, I-"

"Andy, it's me. It's morning." He gave him a second to sit up, rubbing hard at already red eyes. "Have you seen Lily?"

"…she was right here! I saw her, she fell asleep in that chair over there and…oh my God, we're all gonna-"

"Hey, hey, it's ok, Andy. Look at me, it's ok, alright?" Clearly, Azazel had chosen what he thought was an easier mark, and he probably wasn't all that wrong. With all that rage, Lily'd be easy to bend to his will. Sam knew that more than well enough. "I'm gonna go find her. You just stay here, inside the salt and make sure the lines aren't broken, alright? You'll be fine until I come to get you." Which hopefully wouldn't take all that long. He'd go out, do whatever he had to with Lily and come back and get Andy the hell out of town.

Andy agreed, still nervous as hell, and Sam tried not to feel bad for leaving him. If he didn't go out and find Lily then she'd come at them on _her_ terms, and that was something he didn't want, particularly if Azazel was strengthening her. When he'd learned to use his powers before with Ruby they'd come at a good rate but still pretty slowly, but Jake had progressed incredibly fast and he'd decided when he thought about it later that it had to have something to do with Azazel's influence in this place.

Outside, the streets were empty. So empty that he was really starting to wonder, because the farther he wandered the more he saw _nothing_. No signs of Lily, and no spirit activity either. Of course, he was glad about the 'no spirit activity' part because all he had was an iron poker and that was only gonna do him so much good.

When she jumped him from behind, he literally had _no_ warning. He had the time to think that really, it was clever coming at him like this. Demonic activity he'd have expected, but a good old fashioned jumping? That wasn't something he'd exactly been looking out for. She had some kind of bar between her hands and it pressed hard against his windpipe, cutting off his air even as he gasped for breath and tried to flip her. She yanked harder, the metal sawing against his skin and his throat burned painfully, colors flashing before his eyes as he stumbled to the ground.

He dropped the poker to claw at her arms, frantic and beyond all conscious reason. Dimly he heard a thud, felt her hands go weak as she dropped off his back and fell forward, the short metal pipe falling to the mud between his hands as he bent over, gasping for breath. Strong hands closed around the collar of his jacket then, hauling him up, and he found himself being pulled into Dean's arms.

"Hey, hey, look at me, Sammy, look up here."

He did, but it wasn't easy. His vision still fuzzed out a little, and he wheezed around his bruised windpipe, one hand coming out to grasp Dean's shoulder as Dean pulled him in a little closer, supporting most of his weight.

"Easy. You ok, little brother?"

His head was still several steps behind. "_Dean_?"

Dean's smile shined all the way through to his eyes, clearly relieved to hear him talking, and he wrapped Sam up fully in his arms, lips pressing warm against his temple. "Yeah. 'M here. I got you."

He took a deep breath, felt Dean's chest move against his and he pushed himself back a little, the shock really starting to settle in. "Dean…what the hell? I told you not to-"

"Hey, I just saved your ass. You really still gonna try to tell me you had the right idea?" Dean pushed his hair back from his forehead, not so subtly checking him over. "Besides, don't know what the hell you were thinkin'. Did you _seriously_ think I was just gonna let you get zapped up here to demon central on your own?" He scoffed, not waiting for Sam to answer. "I mean really, Sam, that's just…I kinda wanna say it's a problem, but I really don't wanna talk about it right now. Point is, I don't care what you said, I'm still the big brother here, and if I think you need me I'm gonna be there to look out for you, end of story. I'd've come anyway, but with you sayin' you were supposed to _die_ up here, well…I mean, really, Sam, what _were_ you thinking, man? You honestly thought I was just gonna roll over and accept that, just leave this all up to you and _hope_ you came out ok?"

He'd been thinking lots of things, among them the fact that if he fucked up and he _did_ die, he didn't want Dean there to see it. Mostly, though, he'd been thinking that this town wasn't safe for the people with his abilities, much less anyone else. "Wanted to keep you safe." That seemed like the most concise answer.

"Good luck with that." Dean was smirking, a measure of the bravado he'd been lacking there for awhile seeming to have returned in the act of saving Sam. Maybe he hadn't all the way realized it before, but in some ways this was something Dean _needed_, looking after him, and in feeling like he couldn't do it he'd been goin' a little crazy. Safe or not, maybe this'd be good for him in the long run. At the moment, Sam was just glad he could breathe and even gladder to have Dean's arm wrapped around his shoulders, warm and anchoring.

"We need to get Andy. I left him a few streets over."

Dean nodded, insisted on keeping his arm around Sam as he got to his feet even though Sam was pretty sure he could've managed. "Yeah, I saw. Been following you since yesterday. Well, for the most part, at least. I branched out a little, scouted some but I mostly just followed and kept outta sight."

"You mean you've been here the whole time?" So, not only did he severely underestimate Dean's stubborn big brother complex, but he'd failed to even notice he was being followed. Fantastic.

"I'm just that good, Sammy, what can I say." He winked, clearly certain of just where Sam's thoughts had traveled. "Anyway, yeah, been here pretty much the whole time. Soon as you didn't come back in about 15 minutes I went and checked, found the sulfur, jumped in the car and drove nearly straight here, bout 9 hours. Got here just a little 'fore you woke up."

He didn't even know what to say. On one hand, he _shouldn't_ have been surprised. He'd gotten so used to Dean mostly following his lead in everything he'd known about the future, but he hadn't stopped to think that most of the time, that was just on hunts. This involved _him_, and he should've realized much sooner that on _that_, Dean had never taken orders from anyone. Not even dad, and certainly not Sam. When it came to looking after his brother, Dean did whatever he deemed necessary, and this wasn't the first time that instinct had saved Sam's life. Not to mention everything else it had done for him over the years.

No matter how worried about Dean he was(and he _was_ worried. Terrified, even.), when they got out of here, he was gonna have to thank him for that.

"Oh, _shit_. No! No, no…" He snapped back to attention, jerking his head in the direction Dean was looking, only to see smoke curling up from somewhere off to the right.

Oh, shit. _Andy_.

He pulled away from Dean, darting into an alley and running toward the smoke, and he only dimly heard Dean following him, calling after him. Once he'd run two streets over he came out onto the right one and he could see the flames, already licking past the roof. And between him and the door, there was the demon.

Sam skidded to a stop in the mud, Dean nearly crashing into him from behind, and the minute Dean's eyes fell on him too they both gripped at each other's jackets, each trying to haul the other one back.

Azazel turned slowly, his arms crossing over his chest. "Well isn't that sweet. Think it's a little late to be trying to hide your brother from me, Dean." His eyes flashed, gleaming yellow that seemed even more radiant in the firelight. "After all, he is already mine, really. Or did he tell you that? I'm not really sure what you're allowed to know these days."

"You son of a-"

"_Dean_!" Dean had lunged forward but Sam caught him, arms hooking around Dean's and yanking him back, holding him close to his chest. Dean was stronger, though, and he if he really struggled enough, Sam wasn't gonna be able to hold him. He went instead for what might work, his voice dropping as he yanked Dean backwards just a little tighter. "Don't fall for it. Don't listen to him. We can't trust a word he says, ok, just don't do anything stupid right now; it's not the time. Just _stay with me_."

Dean was still breathing like he'd run 10 miles but Sam felt his muscles go slack, saw the slight tilt of his jaw that could've passed for a nod and he let him go. He tried to step just in front of him, to put himself between them but Dean's hand shot out and pressed against his chest, holding him back and keeping them even.

"Oh, it's alright, Dean. I won't hurt him. In fact, I've never _hurt_ him, I've only ever _helped_ him be all he can be, but you people just can't seem to understand that." He shrugged, strolled a little closer. "You know, Sam, you disappointed me. I was proud when you killed Jake because whatever your motives were, kiddo, that showed potential. But not anticipating me going to Lily…" He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Elementary move. Think you're getting rusty, Sam."

He wasn't in the mood. Andy was dead and he had Dean with him, and he just couldn't afford to dick around with the bastard right now. He wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist, squeezing till he let Sam push his hand away and step forward. "Alright. I'll do your dirty work. Just give me the gun."

Azazel laughed, long and deep, and suddenly the Colt was there in his hands, being twirled between his fingers. "Hold up there, Tex. I mean, this is just too good to be true, but that's the real catch of it, isn't it? _You_, Sam, are too good to be true. Sure, you try to be the good boy, try to come back in time and right all your wrongs. Tell me, Sam, do you _really_ think it could be that simple? You can't change your nature, Sam, and you can't change Dean's. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved, especially not from themselves."

"Give me the goddamn gun." His voice quaked with rage, and he didn't let himself look back at Dean out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to know what he'd see.

"I mean, I haven't really seen that future, but _oh_ the things I've heard about it…and you know what? _I_ think Dean was still saying yes for you. Because maybe if he said yes to Michael, then you wouldn't-"

"You shut your _fucking_ mouth!" He lost it, closed the last few feet between them and gripped his shirt in his hands, fury blinding him just enough to keep him from thinking better of it. Azazel just laughed, and he could feel Dean jerking on his arm and his collar, pulling him back. He clenched his jaw, stared Azazel down with his chest heaving in frustration. "Give me. The damn. Gun."

"Thought you'd never ask."

He held it out, barrel first, and the minute Sam's fingers brushed the metal he was gone.

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